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THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

JANE  MARSH  PARKER 

AUTHOR  OF   "  ROCHESTER — A   STORY   HISTORICAL." 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,   1886, 
BY 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY. 


PS 


pzzj 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.    PRISCILLA    OTTOWAY,  I 

II.    THE    PROMISED    LAND,    -  II 

III.  NAN,  -          19 

IV.  THE    BOY    PREACHER,      -  33 
V.    COUSIN    CHRISTOPHER,        -  42 

VI.    THE    BRECKINRIDGE    TREE,  -                           49 

VII.    SIR    VICTOR    NEVANDELESS,  -         60 

VIII.    THE    HERMITAGE,  70 

IX.    MARS    SAM,  -         86 

X.    ELDER   STIGGINS,    -  96 

XI.    "  EPOCHS    FOCALIZE,  -       109 

XII.    AN    OLD    MASTER,  -  123 

XIII.  THROUGH    A    GLASS   DARKLY,  -            -136 

XIV.  AT    THE    DOOR,        -  158 
XV.    ASHES   OF    ROSES,         -  '       J77 

XVI.    FROM    THE   DEAD,  194 
XVII.    THE    HANDMAID    OF    THE    LORD,            -      203 


'V  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PACE 

XVIII.  BEFOGGED,     -  212 

XIX.  WINNING    THE    GAME,  -       223 

XX.  WINDS   OF    DOCTRINE,      -  236 

XXI.  HAPPY    VALLEY,  -       245 

XXII.  THE    DAY    AND    THE    HOUR,  -                         261 

XXIII.  AND    IT    CAME    TO    PASS,  -                         -      271 

XXIV.  AFTER    ALL,  282 

XXV.  ON  SHARON'S  PLAIN,  291 


THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PRISCILLA   OTTOWAY. 

SOME  fifty  years  ago  the  traveller  through 
the  Genesee  Valley — and  there  were 
many  seeking  farms  on  its  fertile  flats  in 
those  days — might  have  seen  from  the  high 
land  stage  road  between  Canawagas  and  Mount 
Morris,  in  the  wide  lowland  stretching  far  to 
the  westward,  a  big  stone  chimney  and  the  broad 
gable  of  a  house,  which,  as  one  caught  a  glimpse 
of  them  through  the  hoary  old  pine  trees, 
showed  in  striking  contrast  with  the  homes  of 
the  most  prosperous  farmers,  even  those  who  had 
been  among  the  first  to  take  up  land  on  "  the 
Phelps  and  Gorham  Purchase."  There  was  little 
to  be  seen  of  the  house  beside  the  great  chim 
ney,  but  the  well  cleared  acres  surrounding  it — 
the  stumpless  meadows  and  cultivated  fields — 
the  winding  avenue  of  elms,  and  the  great  barns, 


2  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

were  sure  to  awaken  the  curiosity  of  the  traveller. 
The  big  chimney  looked  discontented  and  mis 
anthropic,  as  if  conscious  that  its  wide  throat 
had  been  made  for  naught  as  far  as  hospitality 
went,  when  its  visible  link  with  the  world  was 
nothing  but  that  slender  thread  of  a  path, 
scarcely  discernible  to  a  tramping  peddler — a 
foot-path  opening  upon  an  obscure  cross  road, 
while  the  gate — well  padlocked — was  a  half 
mile  from  the  highway,  and  fully  that  distance 
from  the  longest  stretch  of  its  afternoon  shadow. 
Nor  was  the  curiosity  of  the  stranger  lessened 
by  the  warning  posted  up  conspicuously,  in  full 
sight  of  the  highway — "  Trespassers  must  look 
out  for  the  dogs." 

"  You're  right,  stranger,"  Jerry  Burns,  the  old 
Valley  stage  driver  was  pretty  sure  to  be  say 
ing  to  some  one  among  his  passengers  when 
that  sullen  looking  chimney  came  in  sight — 
"it  is  about  as  lunsum  a  house  as  you'll  see  in 
these  parts.  Queer  place  for  buildin' — but 
queer  kinder  folks  lives  over  there,  as  nigh  as 
folks  as  don't  know  'em,  and  nobody  does,  can 
find  out. 

"  Barley  Flats  is  the  name  it  goes  by — and 
they  don't  raise  a  ter'bul  sight  of  barley  nuther 


PklSCILLA  OTTO  WAY.  3 

No,    I   was   never   over    thar   and    never 

expecter  be — not  while  them  big  dogs  are 
runnin'  on  the  place — English  mastiffs — a  half 
dozen  nur  more.  Yis,  it's  stun — cobble  stun — 
and  was  built  by  a  Tory  refergee  not  two 
years  after  Sullivan  went  through  here  and 
whipped  the  red-skins,  whipped  'em  so  they 
stayed  whipped.  The  man  who  built  that 
house  bought  his  land  of  the  Injuns — but  how 
he  put  up  such  a  buildin'  in  those  times  is  hard 
tellin'.  Some  say  the  old  feller  meant  to  set 
himself  up  as  a  kinder  big  baron  out  here  and 
have  things  his  own  way  with  the  Injuns  and 
the  British  to  help  him.  He  hadn't  a  living 
soul  for  company  but  a  half  dozen  slaves,  men 
and  wimin  and  two  or  three  Mohawk  boys. 
He'd  some  trouble  in  the  Old  Country — killed 
somebody  most  likely,  or  some  girl  most  killed 
him — it's  all  the  same  'bout — and  he  meant  to 
live  here  in  the  woods  and  have  it  out  with  his 
niggers  and  Mohawks,  when  something  took 
him  back  to  England  and  there  he  died.  Such 
a  house  full  of  old  picturs  and  odds  and  ends 
of  queer  things  you  never  see.  He  must  have 
bought  out  no  end  of  vandues,  for  I've  hearn 
tell  that  there's  piles  of  old  chiny  and  Dutch 


4  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

dressers,  and  humbly  old  chairs,  and  a  lot  of 
portraits — nobody  knows  the  names  of.  The 
English  heirs  had  a  heap  of  trouble  in  getting 
the  title  fixed  up, square.  The  Injuns  had  no 
right  to  sell  the  land,  you  know,  but  that  was 
settled  with  the  State  somehow — and  after  the 
old  house  had  stood  empty  for  years  an  Eng 
lishman  came  and  took  possession,  and  had 
hardly  got  settled,  and  his  two  old  maid  sisters 
had  just  arrived,  when  he  died  of  Genesee  fever, 
and  there  was  them  two  lorn  women  all  alone 
in  a  strange  land,  savin'  a  nurse  that  had  been 
sent  up  from  Rochester  by  one  of  the  doctors 
there.  The  same  woman,  if  you'll  believe,  who 
is  livin'  there  to-day.  That's  John  Wilson's 
grave — that  white  fence  there  in  the  medder. 
His  sisters  went  back  to  England  after  most 
crying  their  eyes  out,  and  Priscilla  Ottoway, 
that's  her  name,  stayed  on  the  place,  and 
whether  she  rents  it  or  has  bought  it  or  if 
they  gave  it  to  her  out  an  nout  nobody  knows, 
but  there  she  stays — and  if  that  house  was  an 
island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  it  wouldn't  be  more 
shet  off  from  the  world. 

"Yes,  sunthin  of  a  family.     Sech  as  she  has 
picked  up  since  the  Wilsons  went  away — two  or 


PRISCILLA  OTTO  WAY. 

three  darkies,  runaway  niggers  most  li 
she  takes  Garrison's  Liberator — and  a  flax 
headed  boy.  I  remember  the  night  she  come  up 
in  the  stage  with  that  baby  in  her  arms,  and 
the  old  darkie  she  was  mighty  careful  shouldn't 
open  his  head  to  nobody. 

"  What  does  she  look  like  ?  "  At  this  point 
Jerry  would  express  his  sense  of  the  inadequacy 
of  words  by  a  long  drawn  sigh — "  Well,  stranger, 
mebbe  you're  used  to  seein'  handsomer  women, 
but  I  ain't.  She  never  goes  to  meetin',  nor 
attends  preachin',  and  she  has  no  more  to  do 
with  folks  around  here  than  if  they  were  Hot 
tentots.  There's  no  use  in  a  preacher  tryin'  to 
get  over  there  to  labor  for  her  soul,  and  to  get 
her  to  pay  suthin'  for  the  gospel  in  these 
parts,  for  there's  those  big  dogs  and  it's  no  use 
tryin'  to  talk  with  her  when  she's  off  her  own 
groun'.  She  turns  yer  over  to  that  darkie  and  he's 
mummer  than  death.  No,  she  don't  hire  much 
extra  help.  There's  a  couple  of  Scotch  boys 
and  their  mother  livin'  on  the  place,  but  they 
don't  know  much  more'n  the  rest  on  us.  She 
works  in  the  hay  field  herself  sometimes — in 
fact  there's  little  she  can't  do,  I  guess.  No,  she 
isn't  a  young  woman,  but  gray  hair  somehow 


6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

don't  make  her  look  old.  Ever  hear  of  the  big 
camp  meetings  we  have  out  here  ?  No  ? — well 
she  owns  the  camp  ground,  the  prettiest  grove 
in  the  Genesee  Valley,  but  she  lets  us  have  it 
only  on  condition  that  no  one  goes  near  the  old 
stun  house,  and  we've  never  once  seen  her  or 
any  of  the  rest  of  'em  on  the  groun'.  The  post 
master  says  she  don't  get  no  letters,  only  once 
a  year  or  so,  and  then  one  comes  from  England, 
but  she  takes  a  heap  of  newspapers,  and  I've 
seen  Garrison's  Liberator  myself  with  her  name 
on  the  wrapper.  I'd  advise  you  not  to  try  it, 
stranger.  I've  seen  those  dogs  myself." 

The  story  of  the  old  house  and  its  occupants, 
as  told  by  Jerry  Burns,  was  in  the  main  true, 
but  the  gossips  never  dreamed  that  the  sisters 
of  John  Wilson,  the  prim  old  English  ladies 
who  spent  a  melancholy  summer  in  severe  seclu 
sion  at  Barley  Flats,  knew  no  more  about  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway  themselves  than  they  did.  Often 
in  their  lonely  tea  drinkings  before  the  parlor 
window,  from  which  they  could  see  the  grave  in 
the  meadow,  they  had  betrayed  to  each  other 
their  uneasiness  as  to  the  antecedents  of  the 
capable  woman  so  providentially  sent  to  them 
in  their  extremity,  who  made  no  response  when 


PRISCILLA    OTTO  WAY.  ^ 

they  softly  prattled  their  appreciation  of  her 
rare  merits.  They  had  urged  her  to  go  back  to 
England  with  them,  but  she  had  declined  so 
positively  they  had  not  courage  to  ask  her 
a  second  time.  She  wished  to  become  the 
owner  of  Barley  Flats,  she  had  said.  She  could 
pay  for  the  property  in  time,  and  they  had  been 
pleased  to  let  her  have  it  upon  easy  terms,  so 
loath  were  they  to  leave  John's  grave  in  the 
care  of  strangers. 

"  Please  keep  it  always  as  much  like  a  bit  of 
old  England  as  you  can.  We  will  send  flower 
seeds  from  our  own  garden,  daffodils,  orchis, 
lady's  smock,  blue  bells,"  and  Miss  Abby  kept 
count  on  her  shadowy  fingers. 

"  The  springs  here  are  late — so  very  late — 
and  to  think  of  the  winters  in  this  desolate 
spot."  She  shut  her  lids  down  close  and 
shuddered.  "  What  will  you  do,  Ottoway,  when 
the  snow  piles  up  in  high  drifts  between  you  and 
the  road?" 

"  Sit  by  the  fire  and  spin." 

The  sisters  looked  at  each  other  in  hopeless 
bewilderment.  Then  Miss  Abby  said  with  less 
warmth  : 

"  You  must  have  a  care  for  the  ivy.    I  shall 


8  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

send  you  a  root  from  the  church-yard  at  home, 
Ottoway.  We  shall  write  to  you,  ourselves,  at 
least  once  a  year,  and  you  must  tell  us  how  the 
place  looks — the  grave  I  mean — " 

"  Certainly,"  turning  around  and  around  a  cap 
which  she  was  fluting,  and  seemingly  absorbed 
in  it. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  in  which  the  sisters 
exchanged  timid  glances,  each  wishing  the 
other  would  be  more  courageous  for  once,  or 
this  attempt  to  draw  Ottoway  out  in  conversa 
tion  would  prove  as  futile  as  preceding  ones. 

"  I  am  sometimes  afraid  you  will  regret  taking 
the  place,"  ventured  Miss  Rachel  at  last.  "  In 
that  case — "  and  she  paused. 

"  Whatever  comes,  I  shall  stay  here  as  long 
as  I  live,"  was  the  low  measured  response.  "  I 
am  my  own  master,"  and  Ottoway  serenely 
proceeded  to  array  Miss  Abby  in  the  freshly 
fluted  cap — carefully  bowing  the  wide  snowy 
strings  as  if  nothing  else  in  the  world  were 
worth  consideration — and  leading  the  old  lady 
before  the  mirror  to  pronounce  upon  the  effect. 
"Will  you  have  the  other  made  like  this?" 

For  once  Miss  Abby  surprised  her  waiting 
woman,  for  instead  of  commenting  upon  the 


PRISCILLA  OTTO  WAY.  9 

exquisite  workmanship  of  her  head-gear  she 
turned  from  the  mirror  abruptly,  and  clutched 
nervously  at  Ottoway's  arm. 

"  But  how  are  we  to  address  your  letters  ? 
Is  it  Miss  Ottoway — or  Mrs.  Ottoway  ?  " 

A  faint  smile  softened  Priscilla  Ottoway's 
firm  mouth. 

"  Address  me  as  Priscilla  Ottoway.  That  is 
all  sufficient.  Will  Miss  Rachel  have  her  cap 
made  up  like  this  one  ?  "  seemingly  unconscious 
that  caps  were  as  far  from  the  mind  of  Miss 
Rachel  as  they  ever  could  be,  and  that  the 
sisters  were  doubting  if  they  might  with  pro 
priety  leave  John's  grave  in  her  charge. 

Their  failure  to  learn  more  from  Doctor  El- 
wood,  who  had  provided  them  with  their  most 
capable  nurse,  quite  disheartened  them.  Miss 
Abby  wrote  to  him  the  next  day — couching 
her  enquiries  in  a  style  of  suggestive  allusion 
that  made  it  rather  hard  for  the  doctor  to  de 
cide  whether  Miss  Abby  looked  upon  her 
"  highly  esteemed  servant  "  as  saint  or  adven 
turess. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her,"  he  wrote— 
"  only  that  she  is  the  best  nurse  I  ever  knew, 
and  a  superior  woman  in  every  way.  She  came 


io  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

to  Rochester  in  charge  of  the  sick  wife  of  an 
English  gentleman.  She  had  offered  her  serv 
ices  to  him  on  the  packet  boat.  After  the 
death  of  her  patient,  she  proved  invaluable  to  me 
as  a  thoroughly  competent  nurse.  That  there 
is  a  mystery  about  her  I  admit,  yet  I  believe 
she  is  a  woman  whose  history  if  known  would 
increase  our  respect.  I  feel  your  difficulty  in 
asking  her  if  she  were  married  or  single.  A 
question  so  easily  asked  in  most  cases  is  not 
easily  asked  of  her.  I  could  have  told  you 
that  it  would  not  be  answered." 

"  There  is  this  comfort  about  it,  Rachel," 
faltered  Miss  Abby,  when  Ottoway  had  bidden 
them  farewell  in  the  ship's  cabin — "  John's 
grave  is  just  as  safe  as  if  we  knew  all  about  her. 
If  he  were  alive,  dear — then  it  would  be  very 
different,  you  know — very  different — " 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   PROMISED    LAND. 

LET  me  help  you  to  see  her  as  she  was  when 
she  used  to  sit  in  the  east  porch  of  the 
old  stone  house,  those  summer  days  when 
Jerry  Burns  was  telling  every  thing  he  knew 
about  her  to  the  travellers  by  the  Valley  stage. 
Climbing  the  padlocked  gate  on  the  cross 
road,  we  follow  the  lane  through  the  clover 
meadow.  Letting  down  the  heavy  bars,  we 
rest  if  we  will  at  the  seat  beneath  the  oak, 
where  the  grass  is  worn  away,  and  find  a  book 
or  two  in  the  niche  provided  for  them — Spenser 
or  Shakespeare,  Buffon's  Natural  History,  or 
possibly  a  treatise  upon  the  diseases  of  horses. 
Still  another  pair  of  bars,  a  brook  gurgling 
through  irregular  patches  of  mint,  trees  newly 
planted,  and  nearer  the  house  where  the  lawn 
is  like  velvet,  belts  and  patches  of  flowers. 
Great  dogs  are  dozing  or  gamboling  in  the  sun, 
a  man's  voice  is  heard  singing  in  the  big  barn, 


12  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

a  parrot  calls  from  the  porch,  a  gigantic 
negress  in  gorgeous  head-gear  is  moving  about 
the  open  kitchen  door,  and  there  in  the  wide 
porch — the  fairest  of  landscapes  framed  in  the 
roses  over-hanging  it  —  sits  the  woman  we  seek. 
A  family  of  kittens  frisk  about  her,  the  old  cat 
dozes  at  her  feet,  an  open  book  is  in  her  lap, 
her  knitting  in  her  hands.  She  is  looking 
across  the  fields  with  clear,  penetrating  vision — 
a  reposeful  eye  undimmed  by  tearful  revery, 
a  satisfied  face — its  striking  characteristic  per 
haps  its  absence  of  expectancy — and  yet  unlike 
most  faces  revealing  that  lack  ;  it  is  hopeful 
rather  than  sad.  A  low,  wide  forehead,  impe 
rious  chin  and  mouth,  full  lips  and  large  ivory, 
not  porcelain,  teeth.  Her  hair  is  snowy  white, 
and  soft  as  spun  silk ;  its  mist  of  short  ringlets 
surmounted  by  a  matronly  cap  of  yellow  lace, 
the  scarflike  ends  of  which  are  pinned  across 
her  breast  with  an  antique  brooch  of  pearl. 
She  might  pass  for  thirty-five,  but  for  her  white 
hair  and  matronly  cap.  There  is  a  healthful 
glow  in  her  clear  olive  complexion,  and  the 
sharp  click  of  her  needles  tells  how  little  she  is 
affected  by  the  enervating  heat  of  the  breathless 
day.  Her  hands  are  a  trifle  large  and  brown 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  13 

with  exposure,  but  the  tapering  finger-tips  show 
a  dainty  and  accurate  touch.  Her  fingers  are 
ringless,  but  that  signifies  little  to  the  curious 
at  a  time  when  many  a  wife  and  mother  had  no 
hoop  of  gold.  She  wears  a  gown  of  India  mus 
lin,  the  full  flowing  sleeves  revealing  her  rounded 
arms,  and  sturdy,  supple  wrists.  A  housewife's 
apron  of  brown  brocade,  the  big  pockets  some 
what  overladen,  lends  a  picturesqueness  to  her 
costume.  A  woman  above  the  medium  height, 
one  whose  face  and  form  would  furnish  the 
model  for  Boadicea  driving  her  chariot  to  the 
front  of  the  battle  —  that  is  Priscilla  Ottoway 
of  the  old  stone  house  in  the  Genesee  Valley. 

The  gossips  were  right :  the  two  blacks 
were  runaway  slaves.  On  her  way  home 
from  New  York  she  had  fallen  in  with  old 
Merit.  Having  left  the  line  boat,  to  walk 
across  a  section  of  country  around  which 
the  Erie  canal  wound  tortuously,  she  had 
heard  his  pitiful  prayer  from  the  thicket  where 
he  had  crawled  to  wait  for  the  Lord's  deliver 
ance  :  "  Ole  Mas'r  up  dere  in  glory  will  tell  ye 
Fse  jis'  as  much  'count  as  old  'Lijah.  Didn't 
yer  say  you'd  nebber  let  yo'  people  die  in  de 
wilderness,  and  ain't  I  gwine  ter  die  right  heah 


14  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

in  de  bushes  if  de  ravens  don't  bring  caun  and 
bacon  right  smart  'long?  " 

"  I  know'd  he'd  drive  his  cha'yot  wheels  dis 
way,"  he  said,  following  Priscilla  Ottoway  to 
the  boat,  where  he  managed  to  keep  his  prom 
ise  to  tell  nothing  about  himself  and  to  feign 
deafness  marvellously  well. 

"The  white-headed  boy,"  one  of  the  results 
of  this  same  journey,  she  had  taken  home  with 
far  more  misgivings.  The  November  rain  had 
carried  away  a  bridge  the  Valley  stage  reached 
late  in  the  night.  Priscilla  Ottoway  and  Merit 
were  the  only  passengers.  At  the  cabin  where 
they  found  shelter  a  baby  was  born  that  night, 
the  mother's  life  going  out  with  its  feeble  wail. 
The  young  father,  who  had  been  alone  but  for 
their  arrival,  had  begged  her  to  take  his  mother 
less  child,  and  she  had  sat  waiting  for  the  day, 
unable  to  say  yea  or  nay,  when  the  black  man 
broke  in : 

"  I  wish  my  ole  Meriky  was  heah.  She'd 
nebber  gib  up  dat  baby.  De  Lawd  isn't  gwine 
ter  send  moah  angels  'long  dis  road  in  a  hurry. 
S'pose  now,  Miss  Prissy,  de  Lawd  laid  dat  baby 
cross  your  lap  for  nothun?  Mistis" — and  he 
spoke  with  sharp  abruptness — "  it  come  to  me 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  15 

all  of  a  sudd'n,  or  I  wouldn't  speak  up  so  peart. 
I'se  been  heahing  my  Meriky.  She  says,  '  Take 
dat  baby.  I'se  comin'  Norf  to  be  its  black 
mammy.  I'se  gwine  ter  hab  one  baby  dey 
can't  sell.'  " 

"  Hush,  Merit." 

He  curled  down  before  the  fire,  and  she  told 
him  to  light  his  pipe.  Stuffing  the  tobacco  into 
the  bowl,  he  broke  out  again : 

"  Tears  like  I  heah  her  say,  '  I'se  comin'  Norf 
to  hab  one  baby  dey  can't  sell.'  " 

The  end  of  it  all  was  Priscilla  Ottoway  took 
the  child  for  her  own. 

"  Mary  used  to  say,"  sobbed  the  father,  "  that 
if  it  were  a  boy  she  should  call  it  Philander. 
You  see  it  was  at  a  husking  bee  she  first  saw  me 
and  I  was  singing  '  Come,  Philander,  let  us  be 
a  marchin'.'  I  wish  you'd  call  him  Philander, 
that's  all  I'll  ask,  and  be  good  to  him  for  Mary's 
sake." 

True  enough,  before  April  of  that  next  year 
America  had  become  one  of  the  household  at 
Barley  Flats.  When  Priscilla  Ottoway  had 
helped  old  Merit  off  in  the  disguise  of  a  deaf 
old  valet  whose  master  had  sent  him  back  to 
Kentucky  with  the  necessary  passports,  she 


1 6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

never  expected  to  see  him  again,  never  in  the 
world.  But  one  stormy  night,  as  she  sat 
with  the  baby,  the  dogs  became  strangely  ex 
cited,  and  when  she  opened  the  door  there 
stood  old  Merit,  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  negress 
close  behind  him,  who  paid  little  heed  to  wel 
come  or  greeting,  but  strode  directly  to  the 
cradle  and  silently  studied  the  baby's  face.  Her 
stature  not  only  belittled  Merit,  watching  her 
nervously,  but  the  room  and  everything  in  it. 
She  looked  as  if  hesitating  about  remaining, 
then  she  pushed  him  back  from  the  cradle  with 
grumpy  impatience,  and  taking  up  the  child, 
sat  down  with  it  before  the  fire. 

"  Yis,  mistis,  we'se  cum  a  long  way,  and  dis 
baby  was  all  dat  fotched  me.  I  reckon  dey'll 

nebber  find  us "  settling  back  comfortably 

with  the  baby  on  her  shoulder.  "  Merit  knowed 
bettah  dan  tell  me  'twas  so  fah.  I'se  right  smart 
tuckered  out  totin'  him  along." 

Priscilla  Ottoway  had  barred  her  gates  against 
the  world.  Barley  Flats  was  a  world  of  itself, 
and  within  its  borders  for  her  at  least  there  was 
peace,  something  she  believed  the  world  outside 
could  never  give  her  more.  The  blacks  had 
their  domestic  broils,  'twas  true,  but  they  were 


THE  PROMISED  LAND.  1 7 

devoted  to  her,  and  as  happy  as  their  tempera 
ment  permitted.  The  place  changed  wondrously 
under  the  five  years  of  her  superintendence. 
Every  nook  and  corner  was  made  to  yield  its 
full  measure  of  use  and  beauty.  She  had 
created  a  new  world  out  of  an  old — not  only  in 
the  farm  but  in  her  own  life — a  patient  creation, 
the  evolution  of  vigilant  industry  and  single 
ness  of  purpose.  Everything  should  yield  its 
best.  John  Wilson's  grave  was  a  blaze  of  glory 
from  spring  to  fall.  Baby  Phil  had  grown  with 
everything  else — blossom  he  never  would — the 
silent,  reserved,  unattractive  child,  submissive 
to  a  fault  unless  opposed.  He  was  the  con 
stant  companion  of  his  black  "  daddy,"  whose 
education  of  the  lad  had  one  severe  limitation 
— he  was  never  to  teach  him  anything  of  God  or 
the  Unseen.  A  painful  restriction  this  to  pious 
old  Merit,  but  Priscilla  Ottoway  would  have 
separated  them  entirely  rather  than  that  the 
child's  mind  should  be  poisoned,  as  she  held,  by 
superstitious  fancies.  He  would  find  the  truth 
in  due  time,  or  like  herself  he  would  be  con 
tent  in  the  denial  of  such  discovery. 

"  I   can  teach  him  only  what  I  know  myself, 
and  what  do  I  know  of  things  unseen  ?  The 


1 8  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

desire  to  understand  His  silence  shall  not 
tempt  me  into  querulous  altercation  with  the 
Unknowable.  If  He  has  personality,  if  He  is 
my  Father,  he  is  something  more  than  mere 
physical  processes  of  Nature,  than  law.  That 
fact,  if  such  it  is,  is  yet  to  be  revealed  to  me.  If  I 
am  blind,  born  blind,  and  He  will  not  open  mine 
eyes,  shall  I  rebel  ?  And  will  He  condemn  my 
failure  to  find  what  I  have  bruised  myself  in  the 
seeking?  I  shall  teach  Phil  nothing  that  is  mere 
speculation,  superstition.  Better  nothing  to 
hold  by  than  a  rope  of  sand." 

She  taught  him  to  read,  and  he  was  an  apt 
scholar,  but  nature  was  the  book  he  liked  best, 
and  the  black  man  was  his  favorite  teacher. 
Merit's  disappointment  was  in  the  boy's  hope 
less  dissimilarity  to  "  Mars  Sam  "  of  the  old 
Kentucky  plantation.  It  was  pathetic  to  see 
the  black  man  trying  to  develop  a  love  of  mis 
chief  in  the  solemn  little  fellow,  by  telling  him 
the  mad  pranks  of  the  lad,  he  was  proud  to 
declare,  wras  still  his  master  and  owner,  and  for 
whom  his  heart  never  ceased  yearning. 


CHAPTER  III. 

NAN. 

•QRISCILLA  OTTOWAY  had  gone  to  New 
York  believing  that  when  the  "  Busy  Bee  " 
had  sailed  she  could  go  back  to  Barley  Flats,  and 
be  as  lost  to  the  world  as  it  was  her  desire  to  be. 
But  an  outcome  of  that  journey  had  been  a  link 
with  the  world  and  the  past  she  sometimes 
feared  might  open  her  door  to  an  unwelcome 
guest — one  she  could  not  dismiss. 

While  waiting  for  the  boat  that  was  to  take 
her  homeward,  she  could  not  resist  taking  a 
stroll  in  the  city,  the  streets  of  which  were 
plainly  familiar  to  her.  She  was  closely  veiled, 
and  any  one  observing  her  movements  would 
have  discovered  that  the  object  of  her  walk 
was  reached  when  she  came  to  a  discouraged 
looking  dwelling  on  a  cross  street  near  lower 
Broadway,  a  house  seemingly  overawed  by  its 
newer  and  finer  neighbors.  Nothing  about 


20  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

the  house  escaped  the  guarded  look  she  gave 
it :  the  dingy  curtains,  broken  shutters,  the 
pitcher  with  a  broken  nose  on  the  upper  win 
dow  ledge,  and  the  name  Ottoway  on  the 
unpolished  door  plate.  She  was  hurrying  on 
with  quickened  pace,  and  had  unconsciously 
lifted  her  veil,  when  a  wan  faced  girl  flitted  like 
a  moth  around  the  corner  and  in  another 
instant  was  clinging  to  her  skirts. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Prissy !  We  thought  you  were 
dead !  " 

There  was  no  eluding  the  child,  no  deceiving 
her. 

"  Hush,  Nan,"  and  together  they  sat  down 
upon  a  seat  in  a  neighboring  park.  "  And 
your  father  is  still  living  ?  Promise  me  you 
will  say  nothing  of  this  meeting.  There,  good 
bye.  Be  a  good  girl,  Nan — let  me  go — good 
bye,  dear." 

But  no,  the  girl  held  her  fast.  She  was  an 
odd  figure  in  her  tawdry  fine  hat,  a  silk  shawl 
trailing  behind  her,  her  kid  slippers  held  on  by 
dexterous  shuffling.  Her  big  blue  eyes,  as  she 
stood  with  a  tight  grip  upon  Priscilla  Otto- 
way,  suggested  a  wax  doll  transfixed  with 
amazement. 


NAN".  2 1 

"  There  now,  let  me  go,  Nanny." 

"  I  am  going  with  you,"  with  despairing 
uncertainty.  Then  imploringly,  "  Come  home 
and  see  papa." 

"No,  Nanny,  that  cannot  be —  Mind,  you 
must  not  tell  him,  nor  your  mother,  that  you 
have  seen  me." 

"  He  had  a  letter  only  the  other  day."  She 
seemed  to  be  testing  the  reality  of  things  by 
slow  speech.  "  I  read  it  to  him.  Senor  Al- 
meyda  is  dead.  He  died  in  a  prison  in  Lisbon." 

"  Ah — "  the  hard  lines  deepening  around  her 
mouth. 

"  The  letter  wanted  to  know  if  you  had  ever 
come  back.  Senor  Almeyda  left  some  money, 
and  they  wrote  to  papa  about  it.  I'll  go  and 
get  the  letter  if  you  will  only  wait." 

"  No,  Nanny,  no — "  with  imperious  decis 
ion — "  I  am  dead."  The  girl  turned  pale 
and  relaxed  her  hold.  Priscilla  Ottoway 
stepped  beyond  her  reach  and  was  turn 
ing  away  when  with  a  faint  wail  the  arms 
were  outstretched  imploringly — 

"  Only  tell  me  one  thing,  Aunt  Prissy. 
How  may  I  find  you  some  time  when  papa  is 
dead  and  there  is  nobody  in  the  world  ?  " 


22  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Hush,  Nanny,"  concealing  her  from  passers- 
by,  "your  step-mother  will  make  a  home  for 
you." 

"  But  she  does  not  love  me,"  her  hold 
tighter  than  before, "  and  papa,  oh  he  is  so 
very  ill." 

Priscilla  Ottoway  had  never  been  able  to 
account  for  doing  what  she  did  before  that 
painful  interview  was  ended.  She  wrote  upon 
a  slip  of  paper  the  name  and  address  of  Dr. 
Elwood  and  gave  it  to  the  child  who  hid  it  in 
her  bosom  promising  repeatedly  never  to 
reveal  the  meeting,  nor  to  make  use  of  the 
address  in  finding  her  aunt  unless  there  were 
no  one  else  in  the  world  to  befriend  her. 

"  If  you  should  ever  receive  a  letter  asking 
about  me,"  Priscilla  Ottoway  had  written  to 
Dr.  Elwood,  "you  will  please  not  answer  it 
without  my  consent  and  advice." 

He  had  promised.  Among  the  yesterdays 
inexorably  banished,  that  one  would  have  a 
hearing  oftener  than  most  others.  Only  for 
that  slip  of  paper  how  perfect  her  separation 
from  her  old  life! 

"  Tears  like  somefin's  gwine  fur  ter  'appen," 
Merit  was  growling  to  himself  one  afternoon  as 


NAN.  23 

he  jogged  over  the  road  from  the  post-office, 
with  a  letter  for  Priscilla  Ottoway;  a  letter 
which  had  lain  in  the  office  nearly  a  fort-night, 
as  the  postmaster  said.  "  I'se  been  '  lowin  dat 
de  Lawd  was  doin'  widout  Miss  Prissy's  help 
dis  long  time  now.  He  hasn't  been  troublin' 
her  much  all  dese  yeahs.  If  I'se  not  mistooken 
somfin's  comin." 

Nanny  Ottoway  was  coming  to  Barley  Flats 
on  the  morrow. 

It  was  too  late  to  prevent  what  would  surely 
have  been  prevented  had  Priscilla  Ottoway 
received  the  letter  in  due  season.  Midnight 
found  her  sitting  alone  before  the  smouldering 
hearth  log.  Why  was  she  so  unwilling  to  open 
her  door  to  her  own  brother's  child  ? 

She  brought  from  the  antique  cabinet  in  the 
dusky  corner,  an  odor  of  India  boxes  filling 
the  room  with  the  creaking  of  the  unused 
hinges,  a  miniature  on  ivory,  the  face  of  her 
mother,  a  fair  young  Quakeress  in  snowy  cap, 
— a  strong  face,  like  and  yet  unlike  her  own — a 
serious  face,  bewitching  for  the  demure  coquetry 
in  the  dove-like  yet  resolute  eyes. 

She  replenished  her  dying  fire  and  studied 
the  miniature,  remembering  how  uncommon  it 


24  THE  MIDNIHGT  CRY. 

was  for  a  Friend  to  have  a  miniature  painted. 
When  had  a  Hallowell  committed  such  sin 
before  ?  Then  she  remembered  that  this  picture 
of  her  mother  was  painted  when  the  worldly 
doings  of  the  Friends  of  Philadelphia  were  har 
rowing  the  souls  of  the  elect.  Ruth  Hallowell 
had  gone  up  from  Happy  Valley  to  visit  her 
mother's  kindred  in  the  great  wicked  city,  and 
her  kindred  were  rulers  in  the  world  of  fashion. 
Had  not  Aunt  Priscilla  Hallowell  given  Ruth 
a  white  satin  petticoat  quilted  with  flowers  and 
lined  with  cream  colored  Persian  silk,  which  she 
had  worn  to  the  fine  dinner  party  at  which  she 
met  the  young  Oxonian,  Reginald  Ottoway,  the 
enthusiastic  missionary  sent  to  Pennsylvania  by 
Mother  Church  to  help  subdue  the  heresy  of 
George  Fox  in  the  stronghold  of  Quakerism  ? 
They  had  loved  each  other,  her  father  and 
her  mother.  And  looking  at  the  miniature  she 
recalled  the  old  story,  and  the  opposition  that 
pretty  Quakeress  had  defied,  even  the  revela 
tions  of  her  stern  mother  with  the  gift  of 
tongues ;  visions  that  alas  were  true  prophecies 
of  an  unhappy  marriage.  Musing  over  the  min 
iature  she  was  back  in  Happy  Valley  again — 
the  Friends'  settlement  among  the  mountains 


NAN.  25 

of  Pennsylvania — lost  behind  the  high  hills 
shutting  in  the  broad  brimmed  roofs,  under 
which  lived  the  descendants  of  martyrs  whose 
rigid  orthodoxy  and  separation  from  the  world 
had  been  rewarded  by  an  abundance  of  this 
world's  goods,  and  whose  great  stone  houses 
dated  from  colonial  times.  The  Hallowells  and 
the  Hathaways  were  the  mighty  land  owners  of 
Happy  Valley,  and  the  Reverend  Reginald  Otto- 
way  must  have  been  zealous  beyond  discretion, 
she  thought,  when  having  married  a  Quakeress 
who  had  vowed  to  convert  him  to  her  faith  and 
never  to  apostatize  from  that  of  her  fathers, 
he  founded  a  mission,  or  rather  attempted  to 
found  one,  on  the  very  border  of  Happy  Valley. 
She  could  recall,  as  she  sat  there  with  the  min 
iature  before  her,  an  impression — nothing  more 
— that  the  mission  languished  and  the  priest 
was  disheartened.  The  memory  was  dim  at 
the  best ;  her  father's  death  and  the  sending  of 
her  brother  Joseph  to  his  friends  in  New  York, 
her  mother's  death,  her  brother  a  handsome 
boy  in  his  teens,  and  a  few  years  her  senior, 
standing  with  her  beside  that  coffin.  Never 
would  brother  and  sister  be  separated  again ; 
and  that  was  farewell  to  Happy  Valley. 


26  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

Her  candle  burnt  out  and  the  fire  was  low. 
Why  was  she  unwilling  to  open  her  door  to  her 
brother's  child  ?  Before  she  could  answer, 
another  face  in  her  memory's  keeping  must  be 
confronted ;  the  face  which  more  than  any 
other  she  had  banished  for  years.  The  lan 
guishing  eyes  had  not  changed,  nor  had  he  lost 
his  haughty  bearing,  the  high  and  airy  pose  of 
his  distinguished  head  :  a  gay  conscienceless 
creature,  he  stood  before  her  again,  Seftor 
Almeyda,  his  gaze  defying  her  scrutiny. 

"  What  a  devilish  plot  it  was !  "  and  she  start 
led  Jacko  her  parrot  into  croaking  testily.  "  Two 
scheming  men,  one  of  them  my  only  brother, 
plotting  their  escape  from  financial  ruin  by  the 
sacrifice  of  my  fortune,  happiness,  everything. 
And  now  his  child  comes,  bringing  it  all  back 
to  me." 

She  lived  it  all  over  again.  A  marriage 
urged  by  her  brother,  precipitated  by  him  ;  her 
fortune  saving  the  firm  from  ruin  ;  her  learn 
ing  not  a  fortnight  after  the  wedding  of  the 
Spanish  woman  and  her  boys  in  Brazil,  of  how 
her  brother  had  intercepted  the  poor  woman's 
letters  to  her — there  was  no  doubting  the  evi 
dence  of  it  all — and  then  her  sudden  resolve, 


NAN.  2  7 

and  the  letter  Sefior  Almeyda  found  when  he 
came  in  whistling  from  his  club. 

"  I  know  everything.  The  Brazilian  corres 
pondence,  her  letters  and  yours  and  my 
brother's,  are  in  ashes  on  the  hearth.  The  for 
tune  of  which  you  two  have  robbed  me  will 
hardly  save  the  firm  of  Almeyda  and  Ottoway 
from  dishonor.  Think  of  me  as  dead." 

With  Nanny  Ottoway  in  the  shadow  of  the 
old  chimney  the  house  was  transformed,  for 
her  silvery  laughter  rang  out  from  its  most 
sombre  corners.  Even  the  grim  old  portraits 
seemed  trying  to  look  hilarious  when  she  chat 
tered  to  them,  and  gave  them  droll  names  and 
a  history.  The  twanging,  jangling  old  harpsi 
chord  broke  out  in  frolicsome  waltzes,  and 
Merit  and  America  were  enticed  into  dancing 
on  the  lawn,  to  the  very  melodies  Mars  Sam 
used  to  play  on  his  fiddle  down  in  Kentucky. 
But  little  Phil  was  disinclined  to  be  reconciled 
to  the  change  and  had  long  pouts  in  his  solitary 
retreats  in  the  corn  field.  Pompey-Dick, 
Merit's  pet  crow,  was  another  rebel.  When 
Nanny  was  playing  on  the  harpsichord  he 
might  be  seen  flitting  ominously  from  one  old 
portrait  to  another,  or  perching  on  his  master's 


28  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

shoulder  blinking  his  sinister  eye,  he  had  but 
one,  with  an  occasional  sepulchral  caw. 

"  Tears  like  you  hain't  no  manners,  Pompey- 
Dick ;  you  Ve  laid  out  to  hab  dem  dangles  in 
her  ears.  She'll  cuff  ye  yet  right  smart,  ole 
fellah.  I  shan't  warn  ye  agin  'bout  dat  ar. 
Yu's  don't  like  her — I  see  dat  in  your  debbil 
of  an  eye."  Then  in  tender  confidence:  "  'Jes' 
ye  wait,  Pompey-Dick,  she  gwine  ter  wilt  foah 
de  mont's  ober.  She  isn't  dat  kind  ob  an 
angel  I'se  been  prayin'  de  Lawd  for  to  send  for 
Mars  Phil.  She'll  nebber  teach  him  and  Miss 
Prissy  and  Meriky  abouten  de  fire  and  de  brim 
stone  and  de  cha'yot  wheels ;  but  de  Lawd 
knows  de  darkness  dere  is  outen  on  dis  farm  I 
s'pose.  I'se  tole  him  offen  nuff." 

Merit  was  a  good  prophet.  Not  many  days 
went  by  before  the  music  and  the  dancing  and 
the  rhapsodies  over  the  seclusion  of  the  place 
were  at  an  end,  and  the  lengthening  days  of 
negative  contentment  began.  Then  came  the 
season  of  despair,  when  Annie  shut  herself  for 
hours  in  her  chamber.  Priscilla  Ottoway  was 
not  blind  to  her  unhappiness,  nor  was  she  dis 
appointed.  She  would  give  Annie  another 
home  in  good  time.  And  then  the  November 


NAN.  29 

rains  began,  when  the  girl  would  sit  alone  by 
her  window  gazing  wistfully  at  the  far  off  belt 
of  woodland,  shutting  her  out  as  she  fancied 
from  the  happy  world.  She  shunned  the  whole 
household,  particularly  little  Phil,  and  repelled 
her  aunt's  attempts  to  lighten  her  solitude. 
When  the  snow  lay  deep  in  the  valley,  hiding 
the  fences  between  the  old  house  and  the  high 
road,  she  went  to  her  bed  to  lie  there  day 
after  day,  speechless,  and  apparently  helpless. 
Neither  was  that  a  surprise  to  Priscilla  Otto- 
way,  nor  would  she  listen  to  America's  proposed 
remedies,  whereby  the  girl  should  be  startled 
out  of  her  dormant  state. 

"  It  is  the  outcome  of  inherited  tendencies," 
said  Priscilla  Ottoway,  tending  her  as  a  baby  and 
without  calling  in  a  physician.  There  she  lay 
upon  her  pillow  until  the  slow  footed  summer 
came  back,  and  with  it  the  July  days  and  the 
annual  camp  meeting. 

The  scent  of  the  hay  fields  came  in  through 
the  open  windows,  through  which  could  be  seen 
the  tents  on  the  camp  ground. 

Soon  after  sunset  the  singing  of  the  wor 
shippers  fell  upon  Annie's  ear;  the  monotonous 
wail  of  a  revival  hymn  uplifted  by  hundreds  of 


30  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

voices.  As  the  strains  swelled  higher  and  fuller, 
she  turned  on  her  pillow  and  listened.  She 
was  alone.  Priscilla  Ottoway  had  been  called 
from  home  on  business  for  a  few  days,  and 
America  and  Phil  were  lost  in  their  early 
slumbers. 

Merit  was  sitting  on  the  kitchen  doorstep, 
Pompey-Dick  on  his  shoulder.  His  pipe  was 
out.  He,  too,  was  listening  to  the  singing,  and 
listening  he  remembered  Zion  and  the  pine 
wood  camp  meetings  down  in  old  Kentucky. 
It  was  a  familiar  hymn,  the  very  one  "de 
bredderin  "  shouted  when  he  came  up  from  the 
waters  of  baptism,  old  Mars  Joswer  stand 
ing  on  the  bank,  and  little  Mars  Sam  with  a 
dog  by  the  collar.  That  was  a  favorite  hymn 
of  old  Merit's.  His  inmost  soul  was  yearning 
to  uplift  his  cracked  basso  with  the  faithful, 
but  he  had  promised  Miss  Prissy  he  would  stay 
away,  and  so  he  would. 

"  Mis'  Prissy,"  he  confided  to  Pompey-Dick, 
"  tinks  she's  gwine  ter  keep  we  'uns  in  de  dark 
and  dat  gospel  light  ain't  no  count.  I'sealost 
candle  sputterin'  heah  all  alone.  I'se  most  all 
in  de  snuffers,  but  de  time's  a  comin'  when  Mis' 
Prissy  and  Meriky  can't  blow  dis  niggah  out 


NAN.  31 

eny  moah.  She  s  an  awful  sinnah,  my  Meriky. 
If  I  know'd  dat  dose  preachers  down  dare  soon 
as  dey  sot  eyes  on  me,  would  say  dat's  Breckin- 
ridge's  niggah,  would  I  go  down  dar?  Dat's 
de  question,  Pompey-Dick.  O  Lawd  !  what  a 
sinnah  I'se  gittin'." 

The  singing  had  ceased.  The  whip-poor- 
wills  and  the  frogs  were  in  full  concert.  He  sat 
with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  Would  he 
never  again  sing  with  the  saints  of  Zion  ? 

He  heard  a  light  footfall  behind  him  and 
pressed  his  hands  closer  to  his  eyes.  His  heart 
stood  still ;  one  croak  from  Pompey-Dick,  who 
darted  into  the  bushes. 

"  O  Lawd  !  O  Lawd  !  " 

"  Merit,"  in  a  low  soft  voice,  and  there 
stood,  could  he  believe  his  eyes  ?  Miss  Annie 
in  her  white  dress,  her  hair  flowing  over  her 
shoulders. 

"  I  am  going  down  to  the  camp  ground.  Yes, 
I  am,"  imperiously.  "And  you  must  get  up  the 
low  chaise.  We  can  drive  along  the  lane,  and 
keep  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  You 
must  go.  Bring  me  the  big  camlet  cloak.  I  will 
sit  here  until  you  are  ready.  Don't  be  long." 

"  Dat's  de  way  He's  always  susprisin'  me  wid 


32  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

His  angelzes,"  muttered  Merit,  harnessing  the 
horse.  "  Allus  makin'  me  tink  dey's  somebody 
comin'.  If  I  know'd  dat  was  Miss  Annie  now,  of 
co'se  I  couldn't  be  drivin'  off  like  dis  and  she  flat 
on  her  back  six  muns  or  moah." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BOY  PREACHER. 

CHRISTOPHER  BURKE,  whose  fame  as 
"the  boy  preacher"  drew  an  unusually 
great  multitude  to  the  camp  ground  that  year, 
was  holding  his  hearers  spell-bound  when 
Annie,  with  Merit  closely  following,  found  a  seat 
near  the  pulpit.  The  night  was  oppressively 
warm.  The  camlet  cloak  slipped  from  Annie's 
shoulders,  and  her  bonnet  was  laid  aside. 
Merit  had  made  her  a  comfortable  seat  with 
the  chaise  cushions,  and  the  great  oak 
tree  behind  which  she  sat  screened  her  from 
observation.  Every  one  was  too  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  boy  preacher  to  note  her 
arrival.  In  a  brief  time  she  was  enwrapt  with 
the  rest,  and  Merit's  fervid  "  Amen  "  was  added 
to  the  frequent  response  of  the  great  congre 
gation.  The  preacher  was  telling  in  homely 
phraseology,  but  with  a  strikingly  musical  voice, 
the  story  of  how  he  had  been  drawn  to  the 


34  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

Valley  camp  ground  that  day — a  deviation 
from  the  track  of  the  pilgrimage  which  he  was 
making  on  foot.  He  could  no  longer  be  called 
"  a  boy  preacher,"  he  told  them,  although  it 
was  only  seven  years  before  when  a  youth  of 
sixteen,  he  had  gone  forth  alone  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  the  lonely  cabins  of  the  settlers  in  the 
Ohio  and  Genesee  Valleys. 

"  I  heard  the  voice  of  Him  that  leadeth  me, 
saying :  a  soul,  a  solitary  soul,  sits  in  great 
darkness  waiting  for  your  coming  to  that  meet 
ing  ;  a  soul  knowing  not  the  cause  of  its  restless 
expectancy,  that  it  is  the  hunger  for  truth 
eternal,  the  thirst  for  the  water  of  life."  His 
clairvoyant  gaze  swept  over  the  sea  of  upturned 
faces,  but  not  until  he  met  the  transfixed  gaze 
from  the  white  face  behind  the  great  oak  was 
the  recognition  mutual.  His  quest  was  ended, 
and  he  bowed  his  head  in  prayer,  that  the  soul 
standing  at  the  opened  door  of  its  prison-house 
might  have  the  wings  of  a  dove  and  soon  be  at 
rest. 

In  vain  did  Merit  urge  her  withdrawal  when 
the  meeting  broke  up.  The  people  were 
crowding  around  the  young  preacher.  She 
knew  he  would  come  to  her,  and  he  did.  He 


THE  BO  Y  PREA  CHER.  35 

held  her  limp  hand  a  moment  and  said  some 
thing  about  her  soul's  unrest,  then  Merit  fairly 
carried  her  away. 

"  You  must  keep  shet  of  dis  yeah,  Miss 
Annie,  less  yer  wants  to  hab  de  powah,  and  go 
jumpin'  ober  de  benches  and  de  pulput  like 
de  debbil.  Wen  I  got  'ligion,  Miss  Annie, 
nuffin'  could  hoi'  me.  Old  Mars  Joswer,  he 
'low'd  to  Mars  Sam — " 

"  Never  mind  the  story  to-night,  Merit. 
Good-night.  Be  sure  and  put  the  cloak  just 
where  you  found  it." 

She  went  down  to  her  breakfast  the  next 
morning  to  America's  grumpy  astonishment. 
Had  she  failed  to  do  so,  but  remained  silent 
and  helpless  on  her  bed,  Merit  had  believed 
he  had  been  having  another  vision.  The  chaise 
was  ordered,  and  America  saw  Miss  Annie  drive 
away  with  him  little  dreaming  where  they 
were  going.  A  letter  from  Priscilla  Ottoway 
that  day  announced  that  she  might  not  return 
for  a  week.  But  she  did  not  tell  Annie  that 
she  had  made  arrangements  for  her  removal  to 
the  home  of  a  physician  on  the  Hudson. 

"  I'se  no  use  for  sech  gwines  on,"  America 
broke  out  when  she  learned  the  state  of  things 


36  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

with  Miss  Annie  ;  that  she  was  a  constant 
attendant  upon  the  camp  meetings,  and  could 
pray,  as  Merit  said,  "above  de  best  of  'em." 
"  Somebody's  watchin'  her.  Somebody  wid 
an  ebil  eye.  Dere's  no  knowin*  what  she'll  do 
foah  Miss  Prissy  gits  home.  You'se  a  gone 
coon,  Mars  Phil,  if  dey  onct  gits  dere  ebil  eyes 
on  you.  You'll  be  no  count  to  Miss  Prissy  any 
moah.  Merit  dar  will  go  foolishin'  round  'em 
till  he  finds  'is  sef  back  in  Kentuck',  see  now 
if  he  don't.  De  whole  of  'em  would  stop  dere 
prayin"  any  time  to  catch  a  fust  class  run'way 
niggah." 

The  night  Priscilla  Ottoway  came  home  she 
found  a  note  pinned  to  her  pillow.  Annie  was 
to  be  married  the  next  morning  to  the  "  boy 
pilgrim  "  Christopher  Burke.  She  was  then  on 
the  camp  ground. 

"  Christopher  is  a  poor  man.  He  has  noth 
ing  but  what  is  given  him  by  the  poor  people 
on  his  circuit.  I  am  to  go  with  him  on  his  long 
journeys." 

"  Silly  child,"  mused  her  aunt,  inclosing  a 
well  filled  purse  in  the  little  trunk  of  clothing 
she  sent  after  her.  "  Poor  Nannie  !  It  is  her 
fate.  That  feverish  taint  in  her  blood :  the 


THE  BO  Y  PREA  CHER.  3  ^ 

mixture  of  zeal  for  conversion  of  Quakers  with 
the  gift  of  tongues." 

Five  years  after  that  summer,  during  which 
time  Priscilla  Ottoway  heard  nothing  from 
the  boy  pilgrim  and  his  wife,  Christopher 
Burke  stood  beside  his  carpenter's  bench  sadly 
troubled  in  mind. 

His  strong-jointed  hands  kept  their  hold  of 
the  plane  he  was  pushing  energetically  to  and 
fro  on  Sister  Rider's  coffin  when  Deacon  Soule 
entered. 

It  was  high  noon  of  a  stifling  July  day. 
The  sun  smote  the  unshaded  shanty  with  a 
pitiless  fierceness.  The  rear  door  standing 
open  gave  a  glimpse  of  green  grass,  and  gay 
flower  beds.  A  child's  laughter  rang  in  occa 
sionally  above  the  constant  droning  buzz  of  the 
saws  in  the  neighboring  mill. '  The  front  door 
opened  upon  the  main  street  of  "  the  Holler,"  and 
was  flanked  by  two  immense  coffins,  standing 
upright,  their  open  lids  suggesting  sepulchral 
traps.  The  Mediterranean  of  "  the  Holler  " 
was  a  goose  pond  ;  its  forum  the  post-office 
opposite  Christopher  Burke's  coffin  shop. 
Deacon  Soule  was  post-master,  merchant,  mag 
istrate  and  grand  magnate  generally  of  the  set- 


38  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

tlement — fifteen  or  twenty  houses  at  the  most, 
huddled  together  in  a  stumpy  clearing,  some 
thirty  miles  from  the  Adirondacks. 

Christopher  Burke  was  the  preacher  of  the 
section.  Like  the  apostolic  tentmaker  of  old 
he  did  not  depend  upon  his  labors  in  the  gos 
pel  for  the  support  of  his  little  family.  Saint 
Paul  was  a  tentmaker  for  the  living,  he  for  the 
dead  :  he  made  coffins.  His  invalid  wife  and 
their  one  little  girl  Marjory  lived  in  the  humble 
tenement  back  of  the  shop.  Mrs.  Burke  was 
not  a  favorite  with  "the  Holler"  folk.  In 
fact  they  seldom  if  ever  saw  her.  She  never 
went  "  to  meeting,"  and  the  judgment  of  the 
majority  of  the  Christians  of  those  parts  was 
that  she  was  not  the  living  epistle  a  preacher's 
wife  ought  to  be. 

Every  day  in  the  summer  the  stage  horn 
broke  the  perfect  calm  of  "  the  Holler  " ;  when 
the  fishermen  from  New  York  and  Albany — 
merry  parties  off  for  a  Waltonian  holiday — not 
only  criticised  the  "  God-forsaken  place,"  but 
were  given  to  making  Christopher  Burke's  star 
ing  coffins  targets  for  green  apples  and  the  like. 
On  the  day  in  question,  Deacon  Soule,  who 
sought  the  prosperity  of  "  the  Holler  "  second 


THE  BO  Y  PREA  CHER.  39 

only  to  that  of  Jerusalem,  had  been  over  to 
remonstrate  with  Elder  Burke  against  the 
defacement  the  place  suffered  from  his  eccen 
tricity  in  advertising.  Meeting  with  no  encour 
agement  that  the  offensive  wares  would  be 
removed,  Deacon  Soule  had  expressed  the  wish 
that  the  Methodists  would  make  haste  and 
finish  their  chapel ;  he  wasn't  a  "  Methody  " 
himself,  but  he  wanted  to  see  the  town  grow 
ing,  and  the  place  made  attractive  to  settlers. 

"  The  day's  gone  by  for  a  place  like  this  to 
be  dependin'  on  a  travellin'  preacher.  The  folks 
are  mighty  pleased  with  that  Elder  Starky. 
They  say  his  wife  can  preach  as  well  as  his  self 
and  has  a  farm  over  in  Galway  besides."  Just 
then  his  quick  eye  discerned  a  boy  with  a  tin 
pail,  a  prospective  customer,  and  he  shot  out 
between  the  coffins,  lending  a  momentary  air 
of  activity  to  the  drowsy  corners. 

"  That  is  just  what  it  is  coming  to,"  said 
Christopher  Burke,  mechanically  resuming  his 
work,  to  stop  short  the  next  minute,  as  if  his 
muscles  were  leaden,  "  and  then  where  is 
bread  coming  from?"  He  took  off  his  paper 
cap  and  dropped  it  on  the  shavings.  "  I  know 
it  is  coming.  Those  Methodists  are  going  to 


40  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

crowd  me  out.  Deacon  Soule  will  help  them. 
Taking  away  those  coffins,  those  sermons  to 
the  godless  who  hang  around  the  Hollow, 
wouldn't  change  things.  I  wish  I  could  talk  to 
Annie.  Well,"  with  a  deep  sigh,  a  firm  shut 
ting  together  of  the  thin  lips,  "  if  it  is  the 
Lord's  will  it  is  mine.  He  shall  lead  me,  step 
by  step,  to  the  bitter  end." 

Again  the  shavings  are  curling  round  the 
plane,  and  a  child's  laughter  is  heard  in  the 
little  garden.  He  hears  it,  and  stops  a  mo. 
ment  to  listen,  and  with  no  lessening  pain. 

"  I  shall  hear  His  voice  in  this  darkness.  I 
must.  The  message  will  come."  The  far- 
away  sound  of  the  stage-horn  was  borne  to 
him  on  the  lifeless  air.  I  may  get  a  letter 
to-night,  I  believe  I  shall,  calling  me  to  preach 
somewhere  next  Sunday.  I  used  to  get  calls 
enough,  more  than  I  could  answer.  Something 
has  gone  wrong,  has  changed  the  hearts  of 
this  people.  Though  He  slay  me,  I  will  trust 
in  Him." 

Another  long  blast  from  the  stage-horn,  then 
the  rumbling  of  the  old  coach  across  the  long 
covered  bridge.  Down  the  dusty  road  it  came, 
the  dusty  vehicle  his  hope  had  transformed 


THE  BOY  PREA CHER.  4 1 

into  a  chariot  of  salvation.  Another  long  pause 
in  his  work,  in  which  a  mouse  crept  across  the 
lid  of  Sister  Rider's  coffin,  and  then  he  walked 
slowly  on  to  the  post-office. 

Only  one  letter  by  that  mail,  and  that  was 
for  him. 

Strange,  he  thought,  that  it  should  be  ad 
dressed  to  "  Mr.  Christopher  Burke." 

Deacon  Soule  was  inclined  to  comment  on 
the  same,  and  did  say  something  about  it  doing 
preachers  no  good  to  set  up  shop  as  if  the 
gospel  calling  were  not  to  be  trusted,  but 
Christopher  Burke  was  deaf  to  all  but  what  his 
heart  was  saying, 

"  It  is  from  the  Lord,  the  message  has  come 
at  last." 


CHAPTER  V. 
COUSIN  CHRISTOPHER. 

"DEAR  COUSIN  CHRISTOPHER: 

"  I  have  found  you  at  last.  That  we  are 
cousins  you  will  not  question,  when  I  have 
given  you  the  proof  of  that  same. 

"  Your  father  was  a  younger  brother  of  my 
father.  I  am  bound  to  say  you  never  knew 
before  where  your  relations  were,  if  you  knew 
you  had  any.  I  know  your  story,  an  orphan 
boy  given  away  to  emigrants  going  West.  A 
fine  time  I  have  had  tracking  you,  and  now 
you  may  thank  your  stars  that  I  did  not  give 
up  the  search." 

Christopher  read  on  slowly  through  the 
closely-written  sheets  his  cousin  had  sent  him. 
He  was  the  fifth  generation  in  descent  from 
one  Captain  James  Burke,  an  Englishman,  his 
cousin  had  written  out  his  pedigree  in  full,  and 
the  heirs  of  that  James  Burke  had  been  adver 
tised  for  in  the  English  papers.  An  attorney 


COUSIN  CHRISTOPHER.  43 

had  written  from  London  offering  to  take  up 
their  case.  Two  million  pounds  lay  in  the 
Bank  of  England  awaiting  them  if  they  could 
prove  their  relationship.  A  convention  of 
Burkes  was  to  be  called  forthwith.  Would 
Christopher  come  to  it,  and  would  he  go  to 
London  to  represent  the  heirs? 

The  shop  seemed  spinning  around  as  he  sat 
there  staring  hard  at  vacancy,  a  strange  ringing 
in  his  ears. 

No,  he  would  not  tell  Annie,  not  until  he 
was  quite  sure.  To  see  her  cheated  of  a  hope 
like  that,  the  very  thought  was  unbearable. 
What  a  day  it  would  be  to  him,  and  to  her, 
when  he  might  tell  her  that  she  was  a  poor 
travelling  preacher's  wife  no  longer,  that  their 
sorrowful  poverty  was  at  an  end!  But  he 
would  first  be  sure,  very  sure,  that  this  great 
Burke  fortune  was  not  a  myth.  How  confi 
dent  he  was  of  his  heirship  already. 

He  would  write  to  his  cousin  at  once,  telling- 

o 

him  that  he  would  be  in  New  York  without  fail 
at  the  time  of  the  convention  (D.  V.  of  course). 
It  was  hard  to  find  paper  whereon  to  write,  and 
in  rummaging  his  high  desk  which  contained 
his  library,  three  books  at  the  most,  the  rat- 


44  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

tling  of  the  coin  in  the  box  containing  the  con 
tributions  for  the  new  meeting  house,  startled 
and  confused  him.  He  had  been  amiss  in 
depositing  it.  Deacon  Soule  had  asked  him 
several  times  if  he  had  done  so.  Deacon  Soulc 
seemed  very  uneasy  about  the  safety  of  a  fund 
that  could  not  exceed  ten  dollars  at  the  most. 
He  would  have  to  borrow  money  to  go  to  New 
York.  Surely  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  hesitate  in  borrowing  of  that  box,  con 
sidering  that  he  should  be  able  at  no  distant 
day  to  restore  fourfold. 

He  was  doing  his  best  with  his  sputtering 
pen,  pale  ink  and  excited  brain  when  a  little 
girl  ran  through  the  shop,  singing  out  that  she 
was  going  to  ask  Deacon  Pendleton  for  a  little 
skim-milk.  Mamma  had  sent  her,  and  she  was  to 
tell  him  that  there  was  nothing  for  their  supper 
— as  if  that  were  something  to  be  merry  over. 
He  did  not  see  her  when  she  came  back  with  an 
overflowing  pail,  a  big  butterfly  held  fast  in 
her  fingers.  But  she  insisted  on  his  hearing 
that  she  had  seen  a  wiggly  snake,  and  ever  so 
many  squirrels. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  little  daughter.  Eat  it  your 
self.  You  and  mother.  I  am  not  hungry." 


COUSIN  CHRISTOPHER.  45 

He  mailed  the  letter  at  once,  and  then  ordered 
a  pound  of  Deacon  Soule's  best  coffee,  and  a 
liberal  supply  of  other  necessaries,  with  a  con 
fidence  that  fairly  stupefied  that  merchant,  who 
was  already  despairing  of  a  partial  payment  of 
the  preacher's  account. 

"  Coin'  to  preach  over  to  Cranberry  to-mor- 
rer?  "  without  turning  to  the  supplies. 

"  No.  Not  to-morrow.  And  a  dozen  eggs 
please,  Brother  Soule." 

"  Yes ;  oh — yes.  Tears  like  interest  is  dyin' 
out  savin'  with  the  Methodys.  They  seem  to 
have  money  enough." 

"And  so  shall  I  in  a  few  days,  more  than 
enough  to  pay  you  and  every  one  who  has 
helped  me  over  a  hard  spot."  The  exhilaration 
in  his  voice  and  manner  had  instant  effect,  and 
his  wants  were  promptly  supplied. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  The  Lord  will  never 
forsake  His  people.  How  much  did  you  say 
there  is  in  the  contribution  box  ?  " 

"  Ten  dollars  perhaps ;  possibly  a  trifle 
more." 

"  Better  let  me  carry  it  over  to  Funder  to- 
morrer." 

The  preacher   walked  out  with    a  springing 


46  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

step.  The  next  morning  he  surprised  Annie 
by  telling  her  he  was  going  away  on  the  down 
stage,  might  be  gone  several  days,  Deacon 
Soule  would  let  her  have  what  was  necessary. 
She  listlessly  received  his  parting  kiss,  never 
asking  him  where  he  was  going.  But  the  brown 
bare-footed  little  Marjory  clung  to  his  hand 
until  the  last  moment,  and  then  she  ran  in  the 
dust  behind  the  stage  until  it  left  her  crying 
alone  by  the  roadside. 

Not  many  days  after,  "  the  Holler  "  was  in 
a  whirlpool  of  excitement. 

Christopher  Burke  had  mysteriously  disap 
peared.  His  wife  lay  in  a  semi-unconscious 
state  and  could  tell  nothing. 

The  contribution  box  was  empty ;  Deacon 
Soule  could  explain  that  deficit. 

For  a  week  or  more  the  excitement  was 
intense,  then  it  gradually  ebbed  away,  the  more 
important  matter  of  how  the  deserted  wife  and 
child  were  to  be  provided  for  taking  its  place. 
Then  an  unknown  woman,  from  no  one  knew 
where,  arrived,  and  taking  possession  of  the 
coffin  shop  and  the  destitute  family,  promptly 
paid  every  demand  upon  the  preacher,  and  made 


COUSIN  CHRISTOPHER.  47 

good  the  meeting  house  fund,  besides  giving 
away  the  scanty  household  goods.  Before  the 
little  community  could  find  out  who  she  was 
and  where  she  came  from,  they  saw  her  driving 
away  with  the  preacher's  wife  and  child. 

"  That  beats  all  that  ever  happened  in  these 
parts,"  said  Deacon  Soule,  proceeding  to  appro 
priate  the  two  great  coffins  at  the  shop  door. 
"  Who  ever  see  neater  things  for  vegtibuls  and 
sech?" 

"  De  lightning  hab  struck  sum  war,"  Merit 
had  told  Pompey-Dick  a  week  before  this  event 
at  Mills  Hollow,  when  after  carrying  a  letter  to 
his  mistress  she  had  lost  no  time  in  leaving 
home,  only  bidding  America  to  have  the  east 
chamber  in  readiness  for  her  return.  "  Didn't  I 
heah  de  Lawd  sayin'  only  last  night,  '  Keep  a 
prayin',  Brudder  Merit,  and  you'll  fetch  de 
cha'yot  and  all  de  hosses  will  be  a  wearin'  of 
deir  golden  bells'  ?  " 

Christopher  Burke  had  been  persuaded  by  his 
erratic  cousin,  who  had  met  cold  response  from 
the  Burke  family  generally,  to  go  to  England  and 
secure  the  great  fortune.  He  had  barely  money 
enough  to  pay  his  passage.  His  faith  in  the 
English  Burkes  made  the  rest  seem  easy,  even 


48  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

his  unexplained  desertion  of  wife  and  child. 
It  would  all  come  out  right  in  the  end.  When 
he  was  worth  thousands  of  dollars,  what  would 
Annie  think  of  the  pangs  it  had  cost  them  !  So 
he  had  sailed  away,  but  not  without  sending  a 
letter  to  Priscilla  Ottoway,  begging  her  to  haste 
to  the  relief  of  her  brother's  child,  who,  with  her 
little  daughter,  was  in  extreme  need. 

"  Until  I  come  back  to  them — which  God 
grant  I  may  some  day — they  will  know  nothing 
of  me,  and  I  must  bear  as  best  I  can  the  thought 
that  Annie  believes  I  have  forsaken  her — for 
ever." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   BRECKINRIDGE  TREE. 

A  MERICA'S  strong  arms  carried  Annie  up 
£\  to  the  east  chamber,  and  laid  her  tenderly 
upon  the  bed,  in  the  old  place.  She  gave  no 
signs  of  interest  in  anybody  or  anything. 

"  I  'lows  dis  is  a  laster,"  she  said  in  return  to 
Priscilla  Ottoway's  brief  explanation  of  her 
absence.  "  She  won't  be  runnin'  out'n  dis  yer 
any  moah.  She's  cum  back  to  de  old  brack 
mammy  for  good,"  crossing  her  arms  serenely. 
"  She'll  be  my  baby  for  good  and  allus,  my 
baby  to  keep.  I  'lows  she  cumfatabler  heah 
than  she's  bin  sence  she  got  up  afoah,  when 
dat  preacher  sot  his  ebil  eye  on  her,"  cursing 
him  under  her  breath.  "  Some  folks  gits  rested 
one  way  and  some  anudder.  She'll  take  aheap 
moahrestin'  dan  mos'  of  us." 

"  I  'lows,"  meekly  ventured  Merit,  when  Pris 
cilla  Ottoway  had  left  them  there  alone,  for 
the  capering  chattering  little  girl  was  insisting 


50  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

upon  going  to  the  woods  she  saw  from  the  win 
dow  to  find  her  papa,  "  dat  de  Lawd  '11  shake 
her  up  when  de  time  cums.  He's  makin'  ready 
to  shake  us  yer  from  the  sellah  doah  to  de  eave 
tfofs  an'  dat— 

She  silenced  him  with  a  look,  and  he  crept 
submissively  away,  doubting  if  Miss  Annie  had 
been  out  of  that  room  for  years  and  years,  and 
if  he  had  not  been  under  a  delusion  and  snare 
concerning  her  marriage  and  absence.  He 
found  Phil  putting  up  a  swing  in  the  barn  for 
the  little  girl,  who  having  never  seen  a  negro 
before,  impatiently  questioned  him  as  to  the 
effect  of  soap  upon  his  face  and  hands. 

The  years  went  by,  and  Annie  Burke  still  lay 
in  a  trance-like  condition  most  of  the  time, 
betraying  no  interest  in  anybody  or  anything. 
Not  until  Marjory  had  grown  to  be  a  tall  slip  of 
a  girl,  did  there  come  a  gradual  awakening  of 
the  suspended  energies  :  something  akin  to  the 
beatific  states,  long  flights,  as  Plotinus  calls 
them,  of  the  alone  to  the  alone ;  visions  she 
made  feeble  efforts  to  relate,  if  any  one  would 
assist  her  in  recalling  them.  Christopher 
Burke's  name  was  unmentioned  in  all  those 
years,  nor  was  his  memory  interwoven  by  ever 


THE  BRECKINRIDGE  TREE.  5 1 

so  faint  a  thread  with  her  fantasies.  Marjory 
had  early  learned  that  her  father  was  not  to  be 
spoken  of,  not  even  to  Phil,  who  when  she  had 
timidly  or  defiantly  introduced  the  subject, 
always  succeeded  in  diverting  her  from  it. 

Such  a  royal  playfellow  he  was  for  her,  the 
solemn  faced  boy ;  bending  down  tall  saplings 
for  her  riding  ;  helping  her  to  climb  up  to  the 
nests  he  guarded  with  loving  care ;  letting  her 
have  a  hand  in  breaking  the  colts,  or  thinking 
she  did ;  and  when  would  he  not  leave  work  or 
books  or  almost  anything  to  fly  the  wonderful 
kites  he  made  for  her,  down  in  the  broad 
meadow?  He  taught  her  to  read,  besides,  but 
she  never  found  a  story  book  so  fascinating  as 
Merit's  stories  of  old  Kentucky  ;  stories  she 
encouraged  his  telling  over  and  over  and  with  an 
elaboration  of  detail  the  old  man  delighted  in. 
She  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  Uncle  Joshua 
and  Mars  Sam  and  Miss  Titia,  and  knew  the 
maze  of  the  Breckinridge  pedigree  so  accu 
rately,  the  second  marriages,  adopted  heirs, 
and  remote  branches,  the  exact  size  of  the 
slipper  worn  by  each  of  the  Breckinridge  beau 
ties  and  other  important  details,  that  he  often 
had  to  refer  to  her  when  his  confused  memory 


52  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

needed  prompting.  She  had  even  helped  him 
in  drawing  the  Breckinridge  tree  on  the  barn 
door ;  that  tree  with  a  branch  quite  as  conspic 
uous  as  the  main  trunk.  The  rest  of  the  family 
were  heartily  tired  of  the  old  story  and  sternly 
frowned  upon  its  repetition,  particularly  Phil, 
but  Marjory  would  even  encourage  him  to  tell 
her  how  the  big  branch  was  Samuel  Ashland 
Breckinridge ;  how  his  mother  was  a  Breckin 
ridge  ;  and  that  it  was  in  her  getting  married 
the  second  time  that  all  the  trouble  came  about 
somehow,  yet  only  that  for  that  second  mar 
riage  there  had  been  no  Mars  Sam,  and  even 
the  Breckinridges  without  Mars  Sam  had  been 
of  little  account. 

The  mother  of  Samuel  Breckinridge  afore 
said,  was  first  married  to  the  Honorable  John 
Barkenstone.  Letitia  Barkenstone,  "  Miss 
Titia,"  had  been  educated  at  the  North,  her 
handsome  fortune  happily  secured  from  her 
spendthrift  step-father,  who  scattered  his  wife's, 
and  left  her  an  almost  penniless  widow,  when 
the  boy  Samuel  was  but  a  lad.  He  was  her 
only  son,  and  a  bachelor  uncle,  Uncle  Joshua, 
gave  them  a  home  on  his  Blue-grass  plantation. 
Their  relations  with  Letitia  Barkenstone  had 


THE  BRECKINRIDGE  TREE.  53 

become  unpleasant  and  almost  completely  sun 
dered  because  of  that  lady's  espousal  of  the 
cause  of  the  Abolitionists  ;  her  guardian  at  the 
North,  with  whom  she  had  lived  since  her 
mother's  second  marriage,  being  a  prominent 
leader  of  the  unpopular  movement.  Uncle 
Joshua  died  when  Samuel  Breckinridge  was  a 
wild  boy  at  Harvard.  His  landed  estate  fell  to 
Letitia  Barkenstone ;  his  slaves  to  Samuel 
Breckinridge ;  the  mother  having  died  long 
before. 

Before  Letitia  Barkenstone  had  passed  her 
majority,  her  devotion  to  the  slave  became  the 
absorbing  enthusiasm  of  her  life.  Nothing 
could  entice  her  into  the  meshes  of  matrimony. 
Her  time,  her  strength,  and  her  dollars,  were 
devoted  to  the  bondman.  Martyrdom  for  the 
slave  was  something  to  be  prayed  for,  and  her 
cross  was  in  the  denial  of  a  martyr's  crown  by 
the  pathway  Garrison  and  Lovejoy  had  made 
glorious,  for  her  at  least.  Upon  her  Uncle 
Joshua's  death,  she  was  possessed  with  the  idea 
of  manumitting  his  old  slaves  ;  buying  them  at 
any  cost  ;  making  Samuel  of  course  her  ward 
and  heir.  She  reached  the  plantation  soon 
after  Uncle  Joshua's  funeral,  and  won  the  im- 


54  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

pulsive  Sam  to  adopt  her  scheme  straight 
way.  Not  that  he  was  ambitious  to  become  a 
second  Wilberforce,  but  empty  pockets  were 
inconvenient,  and  life  on  a  Blue-grass  planta 
tion  had  few  attractions  for  the  gay  Harvard 
boy.  He  would  not  consent  to  give  up 
"Daddy  "  Merit,  however.  All  the  rest  might 
go,  but  Daddy  Merit — why  he  would  as  soon 
think  of  selling  Uncle  Joshua,  had  that  saint 
been  spared  to  earth  !  The  scheme  evolved 
other  difficulties,  petty  differences  between  him 
and  his  autocratic  sister,  and  the  result  was  a 
bitter  quarrel.  More  than  that,  the  enlistment 
of  every  planter  in  the  locality  against  the 
woman  who  was  spreading  her  offensive  views, 
even  in  the  cabins  of  the  slaves.  Her  imme 
diate  departure  was  requested ;  not  only  re 
quested,  but  significantly  advised.  In  her  re 
sentment  she  sold  her  lands  at  a  sacrifice,  and 
returned  to  Philadelphia,  leaving  her  half 
brother  to  get  on  as  he  might.  The  breach 
between  them  was  declared  by  her  to  be  irre 
parable.  In  his  desperate  strait,  Samuel  Breck- 
inridge  rented  his  slaves  to  the  buyer  of  the 
estate,  a  wretched  specimen  of  a  Yankee  over 
seer,  and  then,  that  he  might  never  witness 


THE  BRECKINRIDGE  TREE.  55 

what  he  knew  they  would  suffer,  left  the 
country. 

No  one  knew  where  he  went,  least  of  all  Leti- 
tia  Barkenstone,  who  declared  in  their  last 
interview  that  she  had  washed  her  hands  of 
Samuel  Ashland  Breckinridge  forever. 

But  the  old  slaves  of  Uncle  Joshua  she  did 
not  give  up  so  easily. 

She  sent  an  agent  secretly  to  effect  their 
deliverance  from  their  cruel  task-master.  Old 
Merit  was  pouring  out  his  full  heart  in  prayer 
in  his  pine  woods  oratory,  when  the  tempter 
met  him.  America  had  driven  him  out  in  her 
wrath,  and  he  had  had  no  supper,  and  that  when 
he  had  smelt  the  corn  roasting  on  leaving 
his  hard  work  in  the  field.  He  could  never 
decide  satisfactorily  who  was  the  more  to  blame 
for  his  "  cl'arin'  out  "  that  night,  Miss  Titia  or 
'Meriky.  Miss  Titia's  money  was  in  his  pocket, 
and  'Meriky's  tongue  in  his  ears ;  but  before 
he  had  gone  many  miles  the  former  gave  out, 
and  he  longed  to  hear  the  latter,  and  dimmer 
and  colder  grew  the  North  Star. 

"  You  see,  Mis'  Margie,  Mis'  Titia  was  fur 
drivin'  us  all  up  out  o'  Egypt  wedder  we  was 
ready  for  gwine  or  not.  Jcs'as  if  Moses  hadn't 


5 6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

waited  for  de  Lawd  to  start  off  all  de  people  at 
onct,  but  had  been  hidin'  in  de  woods,  coaxin' 
'em  to  run  off  to  de  wilderness  one  on  'em  at  a 
time.  Dat's  de  way  she  run  me  off.  Me  and 
'Meriky  ought  to  have  marched  up  heah  with 
t'ousands  all  playin'  on  deir  harps  and  fiddles 
and  sech.  I'se  'shamed  to  say,  I  is,  dat  I  was 
de  fust  Breckinridge  niggah  dat  eber  made  free 
trash  of  hisself,  and  I'se  no  free  trash  eder,  if 
Mars  Sam's  livin'.  I'se  a  fifteen  hundred  dol 
lar  niggah,  and  b'longs  to  Mars  Sam." 

"  How  old  would  Mars  Sam  be  if  living  ?  " 
asked  Marjory  one  day. 

Had  she  demanded  an  astronomical  calcula 
tion,  the  effect  upon  Merit  had  hardly  been  dif 
ferent.  He  pulled  desperately  at  his  wool  nib- 
bits,  then  strode  solemnly  to  the  barn  door  and 
faced  the  Breckinridge  tree.  Taking  a  piece 
of  chalk,  he  began  making  a  quantity  of  hier 
oglyphics. 

"  Wai,  I  reckon  Mars  Sam  was  nigh  on  ten 
year  old  when  his  mudder  died.  And  old 
Uncle  Joshwer  sez,  sez  he,  '  Merit,  you  jis 
keep  yo'  eye  on  dat  boy.'  And  I  had  to  be 
spry,  Mis'  Margie,  dat  he  didn't  get  out'n  sight. 
Den  Mars  Sam  he  went  schoolin'  up  Norf," 


THE  BRECKINRIDGE  TREE.  57 

pointing  to  a  marvellous  symbol  of  Harvard. 
"  De  first  Kissmas  he  come  home  I  didn't  know 
him  jis  for  de  whiskers.  He  was  nigh  o'  age 
when  Uncle  Joswer  died,  and  it  wasn't  six 
weeks  ater  we  was  all  down  to  de  pine  woods 
meetin'  house,  and  I  was  gwine  ter  preach  dat 
night  and  Mars  Sam  was  bound  to  hab  a 
lark.  And  I  jis  read  my  tex'  when  in  frew  de 
doah  kem  all  Mars  Sam's  dogs  a  yelpin'  and 
tarin',  for  hadn't  he  bin  draggin'  a  mackeral 
long  de  floah  and  inter  de  pulpit,  and  dere  was 
no  turnin'  dose  dogs  out,  and  dat  was  gret  fun 
for  Mars  Sam' ! ' 

"  But  how  old  would  he  be  to-day,  Uncle 
Merit  ?  " 

"  Dis  niggah's  head  wuks  mighty  slow  sum- 
times,"  taking  off  his  hat  and  searching  its 
inner  depths.  "  As  I  lib,  Mis'  Margie,  Mars 
Sam  if  he's  libbin  will  neber  see  forty  agin. 
Only  tink  of  dat  now,"  sitting  down  for  con 
templation.  "  Heah's  I  bin  talkin'  as  if  he  was 
a  handsum  young  fellah  chirp  enough  for  you, 
Mis'  Margie.  O  Lawd  !  " 

Priscilla  Ottoway  and  the  old  house  changed 
little  with  the  years.  Neither  acquired  a  repu 
tation  for  hospitality,  but  the  high  bars  gave 


53  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

place  to  gates,  and  the  warning  against  the 
dogs  disappeared.  The  household  at  Barley 
Flats  were  sufficient  unto  themselves.  Jerry 
Burns  still  drove  the  Valley  stage.  His  inter 
est  in  the  old  house  lessened  with  the  mystery, 
yet  he  would  tell  snatches  of  the  old  story 
when  he  had  a  stranger  on  the  box. 

"  A  queer  kettle  of  fish  they  are  over  there, 
making  the  best  of  it.  Odds  and  ends  from 
all  kinds  of  leavins  I  take  it.  Mighty  smart 
girl  that  Marjory :  she'll  mount  any  hoss  you 
can  saddle,  and  some  you  can't  for  that  matter. 
Capering  over  the  hay  stacks  and  up  to  the  tree 
tops  like  a  squirrel.  Ever  hear  of  the  Boy  Pil 
grim  ?  He  was  her  father ;  run  off,  you  remem 
ber,  with  meetin'  house  money ;  never  heard 
from  ;  never  will  be  accordin'  to  my  notion. 
Best  farm  in  the  valley ;  kept  up  smart ;  ther's 
nothin'  payin'  Mis'  Otterway  don't  go  inter." 

Priscilla  Ottoway  seldom  left  the  farm. 
Phil  attended  to  everything  that  was  to  be 
done  in  the  village,  and  that  in  a  curt  reticent 
way,  winning  no  friends.  Marjory  would  chat 
ter  like  a  magpie  with  almost  any  one,  but 
Phil  was  a  check  upon  her.  And  yet  Phil 
never  meant  to  thwart  or  disappoint  her.  Did 


THE  BRECKIXRIDGE  TREE.  59 

he  not  go  to  Kentucky  just  to  please  her  in 
pleasing  Uncle  Merit  ;  spending  some  time  in 
the  vicinity  of  Uncle  Joshua's  old  plantation  ; 
learning  all  that  could  be  learned  of  Samuel 
Breckinridge ;  that  he  was  last  heard  of  in 
Europe  where  he  was  leading  a  reckless  life, 
or  as  his  neighbors  said  "  going  to  the  dogs  !  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SIR  VICTOR  NEVANDELESS. 

MERIT'S  philosophical  proclivities  were 
forever  leading  him  into  his  besetting 
sin  ;  into  what  in  a  Thales  or  a  Socrates  had 
been  called  abstraction,  but  what  in  Merit's 
case  was,  as  America  said,  "  jis  moonin'  about 
noffin,  settlin'  up  tings  wid  de  Lawd." 

He  naturally  chose  a  hidden  nook  for  his 
ponderings,  his  formulating  the  unanswerable. 

His  matrimonial  infelicities  were  never  a  part 
of  the  burden  he  bore  to  that  hidden  nook. 
Life  without  the  stimulus  of  the  old  mammy's 
temper  had  been  too  serene  for  his  liking.  He 
did  not  even  bemoan  her  contempt  of  his  vis 
ions,  his  faith  in  the  unseen.  He  needed 
something  to  make  him  remember  his  cov 
enant. 

His  greatest  trouble  was  Mars  Sam.  His 
heart  yearned  for  him.  If  Mars  Sam  were  in 
trouble,  he  wished  he  might  know  that  he  had 


SIR  VICTOR  NEVANDELESS.  6 1 

as  good  as  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in  a  good 
nigger,  who  if  he  had  run  away — all  because  of 
Miss  Letitia — and  run  off  America  besides  from 
a  neighboring  plantation,  was  '  no  free  niggah', 
but  belonged  to  Mars  Sam  jis  the  same.  Next 
to  Mars  Sam  was  his  crow,  or  rather  crows,  for 
he  never  had  been  without  one  pet  crow  at 
least,  and  a  world  of  trouble  they  had  cost  him 
with  their  thieving. 

After  long  meditation  he  resolved  upon  an 
experiment. 

"  Now  jis  ye  see  dis  yeah,  Mars  Phil,"  show 
ing  the  crow's  egg  he  brought  up  from  the 
woods  and  slipped  into  the  nest  of  a  circum 
spect  old  hen,  "  I'se  gwine  ter  start  right  wid 
dis  un.  Scripter  law  is  jis  as  good  for  crows 
an'  chickens  as  fur  sinnahs.  I  'lows  de  rest 
on  'em  hab  bin  a  bad  lot.  No  moah  dat  sort  a 
pickin' an'  a  stealin' round  heah.  Dey  couldn't 
forget  all  dey  larned  wen  little  chillen  down 
dere  in  de  woods.  I  shet  down  right  heah  dis 
day  on  all  sich  crows.  Dis  crow  is  comin'  up 
on  gospel  plan.  You'll  see  what  startin*  right 
an'  goin'  on  right  '11  do." 

He  stoically  awaited  the  result  of  his  far- 
sighted  vigilance,  and  then  for  additional  safe- 


62  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

guard  named  the  crow  chicken  after  Uncle 
Joshua's  laziest  mare,  Poll-Betsey. 

Alas !  As  Poll-Betsey  grew  in  years  and 
beauty,  she  was  an  alarming  illustration  of 
hereditary  evil.  Of  all  the  crows  that  had 
flocked  to  old  Merit's  shoulder  this  ten 
derly  nurtured  Poll-Betsey  was  the  biggest 
thief.  The  morning  Marjory's  ruby  ring 
was  missing,  a  ring  Phil  had  given  her,  Poll- 
Betsey  was  sentenced  to  death  upon  circum 
stantial  evidence.  She  had  been  seen  in  the 
tree  outside  her  window,  that  was  enough. 
Merit  hobbled  away  muttering,  the  condemned 
bird  on  his  shoulder.  Why  didn't  they  suspect 
one  of  Merika's  white  chickens  he'd  like  to 
know,  or  the  crows  in  the  corn-field? 

"  Tings  must  hab  looked  wuss  dan  dis  to 
Aa'on  when  Moses  kep'  hid  out  in  de  woods," 
he  offered  in  consolation  to  his  pet.  "  Moses 
was  cl'ar'gone  ;  dere  was  no  mistake  'bout  dat. 
Mis'  Margie's  ring  is  cl'ar  gone ;  dere's  no 
mistake  'bout  dat.  But  don't  I  know  de  bringin' 
up  you'se  had  ?  I  ain't  gwine  trow  up  ebery 
ting  at  onct,  jis  as  Aa'on  did.  Why  didn't 
he  go  and  beat  de  woods  for  Moses  befoah  he 
made  a  calf  an'  set  de  folks  a  hollerin',  like  dey 


SIR  VICTOR  NEVANDELESS.  63 

are  up  in  de  house  'bout  dis?  Poll-Betsey,  if 
you'se  a  tief,  so  am  Meriky's  ole  hens  an' 
her  turkeys.  Wussent  you  all  chillen  toged- 
der?  Wouldn't  de  debble  cunger  dem  as  soon 
as  you  ?  I  jis  hope  Meriky's  ole  gander  has 
dat  ring.  I'se  a  min'  to  open  his  crop,  else 
how's  w'ebber  ter  find  out  ?  " 

It  was  time  to  find  Poll-Betsey's  nest,  Phil 
said,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  June  morn 
ing  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred 
and  forty-five,  that  Marjory  was  up  on  the 
roof  of  the  old  house,  with  the  intent  of  ex 
ploring  the  thicket  of  overhanging  boughs ;  or 
rather  she  had  climbed  up  the  garret  ladder 
with  that  intent,  but  having  sat  down  upon 
the  ridge-pole  outside,  she  forgot  the  ruby  ring 
and  Poll-Betsey's  hidden  nest  entirely  unless 
her  dreaming  eyes  were  seeking  them  in  the 
cloudless  blue  above  her,  or  off  on  the  misty 
hills  shutting  in  the  wide  valley,  or  down 
among  the  meadows,  or  in  the  billowy  wheat 
fields,  or  where  the  river  was  gliding  away  like 
a  silver  snake. 

Peering  about  in  the  old  garret,  she  had 
brought  forgotten  things  to  light  :  the  faded 
pink  sunbonnet  she  used  to  wear  in  the  gar- 


64  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

den  behind  the  coffin-shop,  when  her  father 
stood  behind  his  work-bench  with  the  fragrant 
shavings  around  his  feet,  the  drone  of  the  saws 
in  the  mill  almost  drowning  his  voice  as  he 
sang  snatches  of  hymns.  How  beautiful  the 
world  was,  but  where  was  he  ?  What  was  that 
chasm  in  her  life  into  which  he  had  disap 
peared  ?  Why  did  she  never  study  it,  look  at 
it  fairly,  ask  questions  about  it  ?  Would  he 
never  come  back?  What  a  great,  beautiful 
world  it  was !  What  a  journey  the  circuit  of 
the  landscape  would  be,  how  many  houses, 
homes  she  could  see,  each  one  a  world  of  its 
own,  and  in  many  of  them  young  girls  like 
herself !  She  had  seen  and  knew  some  of  them. 
Were  they  all  content  to  live  always  in  the 
beautiful  valley,  to  know  nothing  of  the  world 
beyond  the  hills?  She  was  not.  Phil  was. 
That  was  the  difference  between  them.  Phil 
was  precisely  like  Aunt  Prissy  in  thinking  they 
needed  nothing  for  their  happiness  but  what 
they  had  at  Barley  Flats. 

Phil  was  calling,  a  trifle  impatiently,  from  the 
sky-light  ladder : 

"  Have  you  found  it  ?  " 

"  Found    what  ?     Oh     yes— No,      I     mean. 


SIR  YICTOK  NEVANDELESS.  65 

Come  up  here.  It's  like  a  sky  island.  I'm 
lost  on  a  sea  of  clouds." 

He  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  his  search. 
Cautiously  making  the  circuit  of  the  roof  he 
parted  the  vine  tangled  hemlock  boughs,  and 
soon  found  the  hidden  nest  behind  a  dormer 
window,  snugly  sheltered  by  a  hoary  pine  tree. 
He  had  hardly  found  it  only  for  a  dazzling 
ray  under  the  deftly  arranged  twigs — a  diamond 
in  the  head  of  what  proved  to  be  a  gold  pen 
cil. 

Marjory's  dreaming  was  ended.  Where  in 
the  world  had  it  come  from  ?  Poll-Betsey  had 
stolen  it,  of  course  ;  and  there  was  America's 
thimble,  and  the  ruby  ring,  and  a  spoon,  and 
no  end  of  bits  of  bright  tin. 

"  Somebody  in  the  neighborhood  is  putting 
on  a  tin  roof,"  Phil  said,  while  Marjory  was 
studying  the  indistinct  inscription  on  the  pen 
cil. 

"  I  can  not  make  it  read  any  thing  but  '  Vic 
tor  Nevertheless.' ' 

"  Nonsense,  as  if  any  one  had  such  a  silly 
name !  And  yet  it  really  looks  like  it,  Mar 
jory." 

"  It    must     be     Nevandeless,    Phil.     Victor 


66  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

Nevandeless,  what  a  lovely  name  ! "  her  eyes 
sparkling.  "  He  must  be  some  fine  gentleman 
stopping  in  the  village,  a  Sir  Victor  Nevande 
less  perhaps." 

"  Nonsense.  I'll  take  the  pencil  to  the  vil 
lage  to-night  and  find  out  about  it.  There's  a 
party  of  land  speculators  at  the  tavern  now." 

"  But  don't  you  remember,  Phil,  that  young 
gentleman  in  the  velvet  hunting  dress  we  saw 
last  summer,  who  asked  you  about  the  trout 
streams  ?  Well  you  know  it  came  out  that  he 
was  Sir  Harry  Somebody,  and  I  was  always 
sorry  you  did  not  talk  with  him  longer.  Now 
this  Sir  Victor  Nevandeless — " 

"  Oh,  Marjory,  how  nonsensical !  "  he  was 
trying  to  slip  the  ruby  ring  on  her  finger,  but 
she  paid  no  heed. 

"  You  must  not  tell  any  one  about  this  pen 
cil,  not  even  Aunt  Prissy,  until  we  find  the 
owner  and  all  about  it.  Promise  me  that, 
Phil." 

"  But  do  you  care  nothing  about  your  ring  ?  " 
rather  sharply. 

"  Oh  wish  it  on,  Phil,"  snatching  it  off  and 
dropping  it  upon  his  outstretched  hand — a 
brown  knotty  hand.  "  Now  say  after  me  just 


SIA  VICTOR  NEVANDELESS.  67 

what  I    say,   then    I'll     never    lose   it  again." 
She  held  up  her  plump  finger  repeating  : 

"  This  ring  on  your  finger  will  stay  by  you 
As  long  as  the  giver  is  kind  and  true." 

For  a  moment  he  looked  inclined  to  toss  it 
back  to  the  crow's  nest,  then  he  slipped  it  in 
place. 

"  One  would  think  we  were  playing  at  lovers, 
Phil."  He  blushed,  but  she  was  looking  at  the 
pencil  again. 

"  To  think  of  Poll-Betsey  giving  us  so  much, 
such  a  chance  for  a  little  romance  !  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  I  expect  to  find  in  Sir  Victor  ?  He 
is  tall  and  only  a  little  older  than  you,  Phil,  but 
he  don't  look  like  you  one  bit,"  laughing  mer 
rily  at  his  scowl.  "  His  socks  are  not  over  his 
shoes,  and  his  eyes  and  hair  are  black  as  vel 
vet—" 

"  Those  devilish  crows !  "  broke  in  Phil,  start 
ing  for  the  sky-light ;  "  there's  fifty  to  every 
hill  of  corn." 

"  Never  mind  the  crows  or  the  corn,"  and 
she  held  him  back.  "  Sir  Victor  Nevandeless 
will  teach  you  hawking." 

"  I  hope  he  has  offered  a  reward  for  the  pen 
cil." 


63  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"  Oh  Phil,"  with  undisguised  contempt.  "  If 
you  take  anything  for  finding  that  pencil,  I'll 
never  forgive  you." 

"  Not  if  he  is  one  of  those  brass-throated 
stump  orators,  working  the  county  for  Polk  ?" 
They  had  dropped  down  in  the  shadow  of  the 
great  chimney. 

"  But  he  wont  be,"  her  hands  clasped 
around  her  knees,  her  eyes  far  away.  From 
seeing  nothing,  they  suddenly  brightened  and 
expanded  with  discovery. 

"  Look  off  through  the  trees  there,  Phil,  over 
the  river,  up  on  the  hill.  Don't  you  see  it, 
something  glistening?  Who  is  building  a 
house  right  there  in  the  woods?  " 

Phil  stood  up  and  made  a  telescope  of  his 
hands.  Not  a  mile  away  from  them,  as  the 
bee  flies,  but  three  or  four  by  the  road,  a  daz 
zling  eye  shot  through  the  trees. 

"That's  where  those  bits  of  tin  came  from. 
There's  a  kind  of  tower.  A  queer  place  for  a 
house.  Land  is  mighty  poor  about  there." 

"  Everybody  don't  care  so  much  for  land  as 
you  do,  for  seeing  how  many  potatoes  they  can 
get  out  of  an  acre.  The  view  from  that  hill  is 
magnificent." 


SIR  VICTOR  NEVANDELESS.  69 

"  I  heard  them  talking  at  the  post  office  the 
other  night,"  said  he,  "  that  somebody  from 
New  York,  a  rich  old  doctor,  had  taken  up  land 
about  here  somewhere  for  a  summer  residence. 
I  thought  it  was  over  by  Conesus,  but  that 
must  be  it,  and  that's  where  Poll-Betsey  found 
the  pencil." 

"A  rich  old  doctor?"  sarcastically. 

"  Well,  there's  no  knowing  who  is  with  him ; 
a  house  full  of  idiots  perhaps.  I  shouldn't  take 
much  stock  in  a  man  with  such  a  name  :  Victor 
Nevertheless  !  " 

"That's  because  you  don't  know  anything 
but  this  farm.  Very  well,"  for  he  was  disap 
pearing  down  the  skylight,  "  I  shall  find  Sir 
Victor  this  very  day." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    HERMITAGE. 

AT  the  base  of  that  turret  with  a  new  tin 
roof,  upon  the  wide  porch  of  Dr.  War- 
dell's  charming  hermitage  in  the  Genesee  Val 
ley,  or  rather  upon  the  Genesee  Heights,  Sam 
uel  Breckinridge  was  sitting  that  same  after 
noon,  one  of  a  party  of  four,  Dr.  Wardell,  and 
the  little  company  so  carefully  selected  for  a 
sojourn  "  in  the  wilderness."  Skill  in  whist 
playing,  a  preference  for  "Boz,"  and  indiffer 
ence  to  the  political  ferment  of  the  day,  had 
been  eminent  qualifications  for  invitation  to 
this  rural  retreat.  The  doctor  was  Uncle 
Wardell  to  them  all :  Elizabeth  Culbertson, 
Victoria  Barry  and  Samuel  Breckinridge,  but 
kinship  was  remote  save  with  the  former, 
the  only  child  of  his  twin  sister.  "  Kin 
lies  in  something  besides  pedigree  "  was  an 
axiom  with  the  doctor.  They  were  a  drowsy 
group  that  afternoon,  too  dull  for  whist  or  read- 


THE  HERMIT  A  GE.  ^  l 

ing  or  sustained  conversation.  The  easy  chairs 
were  luxurious,  the  languorous  air  heavy  with 
the  breath  of  the  clover  meadows,  and  from 
the  cool  depths  of  the  woods  came  bird  song  in 
full  chorus,  with  the  sound  of  the  mowers  in 
the  field  beyond.  They  had  each  made  pil 
grimage  to  the  Hermitage  to  enjoy  doing  noth 
ing  for  a  while,  and  that  afternoon  they  were 
realizing  the  fulfilment  of  their  anticipation. 
The  expansive  old  gentleman  in  the  wide 
bamboo  chair  was  Doctor  Wardell,  his  rosy 
beaming  face  suggesting  a  pink  sunflower  nod 
ding  above  a  calyx  of  snowy  ruffle.  He  was 
unmistakably  the  most  striking  personage  of 
the  group.  His  brass  buttoned  blue  coat,  spot 
less  white  duck  trousers,  blue  velvet  slippers 
embroidered  with  ox-eyed  daisies,  and  his  silver 
snuff  box  within  reach  on  the  card  table  beside 
him,  made  a  charming  picture.  He  lazily 
swayed  a  palm  leaf  fan,  the  maccaboy  accumu 
lating  on  his  buff  waistcoat  and  white  ruffles 
with  every  meditative  tap  upon  the  silver  box. 
He  had  been  reading  aloud  from  Pickwick,  of 
which  he  never  tired,  in  the  muffled  unevenly 
modulated  voice  common  in  the  very  deaf. 
Merit  was  right.  Samuel  Breckinridge 


72  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

would  never  see  forty  again.  His  bald  crown 
was  fringed  with  iron  gray  hair.  He  had  a 
sallow  face,  very  sallow,  and  his  figure  was 
slight.  His  heavy  moustache  was  white  as 
snow,  and  there  was  a  capricious  gleam  in  his 
black  eyes,  something  half  contradicting  the 
impression  that  he  was  an  ennuied,  embittered 
man  of  the  world. 

One  thought  of  Diana  when  they  saw  Cousin 
Beth — Miss  Culbertson — the  queenly  blonde 
beauty  that  she  was,  with  a  cameo-like  profile, 
her  abundance  of  hair  knotted  in  a  coronet 
held  by  a  silver  comb.  She  must  have  been 
the  youngest  of  the  group,  yet  she,  like  Sam, 
would  never  see  forty  again.  The  stout 
stumpy  little  figure  at  her  side,,  her  face  nearly 
concealed  by  a  drooping  hat  brim,  her  voice  a 
kind  of  musical  growl,  her  laughter  its  echo, 
was  Cousin  Vic.  That  low  drooping  hat  was 
habitually  worn  to  hide  a  sadly  disfigured  face. 
»«.***« 

"  I've  solved  the  mystery,"  and  Cousin  Vic 
broke  the  slumbrous  stillness  by  an  emphatic 
heel  tap.  "  The  ghost  of  the  dead  Pan  of  this 
solitude  has  my  pencil." 

"  I  thought  the   thrushes   were   telling   you 


THE  HERMITAGE.  73 

something,"  yawned  Sam.  "  Possibly  when 
Pan  sees  the  advertisement  on  the  village  bul 
letin  board  he  will  claim  the  reward." 

"  And  that  will  be  our  first  call." 

Another  long  silence.    The  doctor  was  asleep. 

"  You  will  never  see  that  pencil  again,"  bit 
ing  off  a  cigar.  "  We  have  the  novelty  of  a 
mystery." 

"  That  pencil  was  my  talisman.  Did  I  tell 
you  about  the  inscription  :  '  Victor  Neverthe 
less  '  ?  That  is  one  of  Cousin  Beth's  sermons — 
a  reminder.  She  gave  me  that  pencil  years  ago." 

"  That  is  where  you  get  your  pet  phrase,  is  it, 
your  characteristic  rejoinder, — nevertheless  ?  " 

Cousin  Beth's  hand  dropped  the  fan  with 
which  she  had  been  gently  fanning  the  doctor. 
She  too  had  glided  into  dreamland. 

"  Robinson  Crusoe  was  a  happy  dog,"  Sam 
was  soliloquizing.  "  What  a  comfort  it  is  to 
be  rid  of  bells." 

"  How  do  you  spell  it  ?  " 

"  Either  way." 

"  But  we  are  not  beyond  the  sound  of  the 
church-going  bells.  You  will  hear  from  that 
steeple  in  the  village  next  Sunday  morning." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  door   bells  particularly. 


74  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

The  exasperating  call  of  most  country  church 
bells  always  reminds  me  of  old  Merit.  I  can 
see  him  pulling  away  at  the  big  cow  bell  hung 
high  in  a  pine  tree  on  Uncle  Joshua's  plan 
tation,  calling  the  hands  to  meeting  on  a 
Sabbath  morning.  Uncle  Merit  usually  did 
the  preaching.  I  would  like  to  know  what 
became  of  Merit." 

"  Perhaps  he'll  turn  up  with  my  pencil." 

Cousin  Beth  started  up  bewildered  from  her 
doze. 

"  I  was  dreaming  of  Letitia  Barkenstone. 
She  was  in  an  ascension  robe.  Did  I  tell  you 
what  the  madame  told  me  just  before  we  came 
away,  that  Cousin  Letitia  has  gone  into  Miller- 
ism,  and  is  spending  a  great. deal  of  money 
scattering  their  books  and  papers,  and  is  sup 
porting  their  preachers  ?" 

"  Uncle  Wardell  told  me  something  about 
it,"  Sam  said,  seemingly  half  asleep,  and  quite 
uninterested. 

"  Pity  Dan  couldn't  have  one  of  their  charts," 
spoke  up  Cousin  Vic.  "  The  study  of  one  of 
those  flaming  hand-bills  of  prophecy  would  do 
Dan  good  ;  would  divert  him  a  little  from  Saint 
Peter's  chair." 


THE  HERMITAGE.  75 

Sam  dropped  his  cigar,  and  covered  his  face 
with  a  handkerchief.  Cousin  Vic  threw  a 
light  shawl  over  his  shoulders,  against  which  he 
made  feeble  protest. 

"  I  doubt  the  wisdom  of  your  sleeping  here," 
she  said,  "  but  you  will  have  your  own  way  in 
spite  of  me." 

"  The  madame,"  was  Mrs.  Wardell,  the  wife 
of  the  doctor ;  Dan,  Daniel  Livingston  Van 
Horn,  her  only  child  by  her  first  husband. 
Her  marriage  to  the  doctor  was  comparatively 
recent.  The  gay  world  of  fashion,  in  which  she 
moved,  an  imperious  leader,  had  given  up 
Doctor  Wardell  as  a  hopeless  bachelor,  when 
she  suddenly  whisked  him  away  to  Hymen's 
altar.  He  had  retired  from  practice,  that  nothing 
might  interfere  with  the  saraband  of  gaiety.  He 
was  satisfied  to  dance  at  her  dictation,  until  he 
suddenly  lost  his  hearing;  then  all  was 
changed,  and  he  had  gladly  withdrawn  from 
the  pantomime  where  he  felt  like  a  puppet 
with  a  broken  wire,  resolved  to  spend  the  rest 
of  his  days  as  comfortably  as  a  deaf  man  with 
a  preference  for  seclusion  could.  Not  that  his 
devotion  to  the  madame  had  diminished  one 
whit,  far  from  it,  or  that  he  had  a  tendency  to 


76  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

misanthropic  isolation.  She  was  fond  of  gay 
society  and  he  was  not.  Dan  and  she  would 
spend  the  summer  as  they  liked  best  and  he 
would  do  the  same.  He  had  lived  on  a  farm 
when  a  boy.  There  was  a  language  in  nature 
he  should  never  fail  to  understand  and  love. 
Sam  Breckinridge  had  turned  up  at  the  nick  of 
time  ;  just  back  from  Europe  ;  evidently  out 
at  pocket,  and  glad  of  a  quiet  retreat  for  the 
summer.  Sam  was  an  expert  at  whist ;  was  the 
best  of  company.  Sam  and  Cousin  Vic  would 
get  on  well  together.  The  madame's  plans 
would  prevent  her  from  coming  to  the  Hermit 
age  that  summer.  The  madame  was  not 
drawn  to  the  Hermitage.  She  had  said  to  Dan, 
in  sacred  confidence,  that  excepting  Cousin 
Beth,  the  doctor  had  invited  an  odd  lot  to  stay 
with  him  out  there  in  the  woods. 

"  Oh,  Sam  is  all  right,"  Dan  had  assured  her; 
"  a  Breckinridge  is  never  to  be  received  on  suf 
frage.  The  fellow  has  not  a  dollar  in  the  world 
he  can  call  his  own,  I  suppose,  and  unless  he 
makes  up  with  Letitia  Barkenstone,  it's  hard 
telling  how  he  is  coming  out.  And  she  has 
gone  off  on  another  tangent ;  Millerism  this 
time.  Well,  don't  read  any  of  the  stuff  she 


THE  HERMITAGE.  77 

sends  you.  You  are  very  susceptible,  you 
know,  to  spiritual  contagions." 

She  was  standing  before  the  pier  glass  in  her 
dressing-room,  arranging  her  purplish  black 
curls,  freshly  dyed  that  morning.  At  the  word 
contagion,  she  had  thrown  up  her  hands  in 
affright. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  caught  it,  Dan,"  sinking 
into  the  nearest  chair.  "  I  couldn't  help  read 
ing  those  tracts,  and  it's  terrible  !  terrible  !  My 
nerves  are  in  an  awful  state.  Why,  do  you 
know,  Dan,  Letitia  Barkenstone  reads  Greek 
and  Hebrew,  and  she  has  seen  signs  in  the 
heavens  and — " 

The  end  of  it  was  the  madame  and  Dan  had 
departed  for  the  Springs  not  long  before  the 
hermits  set  out  on  their  pilgrimage  to  the 
Genesee  Valley.  Dan  would  see  that  packages 
from  Letitia  Barkenstone  did  not  reach  his 
mother.  He  allayed  Doctor  Wardell's  fears  on 
that  score.  The  doctor,  like  the  rest  of  the 
fashionable  world  in  which  Daniel  Van  Horn 
was  prominent,  placed  the  highest  estimate  on 
his  rare  virtues,  believing  that  "  the  boy  " 
would  come  out  right  in  time.  That  he  had 
not  yet  struck  that  happy  equilibrium  his 


78  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

staunches!  friends  were  forced  to  acknowledge. 
To  see  Dan  Van  Horn  at  his  best  was  not  when 
he  stood  in  the  organ  loft  of  Saint  Cecilia,  his 
pale  intellectual  face  illumed  with  ecstatic  fer 
vor,  his  heavenly  tenor  soaring  away  with  the 
hearts  of  his  listeners. 

His  ambrosial  locks  and  spiritual  physique 
were  cultivated  by  his  mother  rather  than  him 
self,  and  some  of  his  friends  had  called  him  the 
Fra  Angelico  illumination  of  her  life.  What 
heightened  the  interest  in  him  was  the  whisper 
that  he  would  study  for  the  sacred  ministry, 
only  that  he  had  been  unsettled  by  the  Tract- 
arian  controversy  of  the  day,  and  was  vacillat 
ing  toward  Rome.  What  more  could  be  said 
to  make  a  pensive  young  man  with  such  lan 
guorous  blue  eyes  intensely  interesting? 

"  Poor  Dan ! "  his  mother  confided  to  her 
dearest  friends,  "  nobody  knows  the  pall  he  is 
under,  nobody  but  me.  What  do  I  know  about 
the  reaction  of  the  Reformation,  post-baptismal 
sins,  visible  heads  of  invisible  churches  and  all 
that  ?  I  shall  be  glad  when  he  does  know  what 
to  believe,  and  I  shall  believe  whatever  Dan 
does." 

But   to   return   to   the  group  on  the  piazza.. 


THE  HERMITAGE.  79 

Sam  had  fallen  asleep  and  another  shawl  had 
been  thrown  over  him.  The  doctor  was  nod 
ding.  The  two  ladies  withdrew  to  the  other 
end  of  the  porch,  were  they  might  chat  over 
their  sewing. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  of  the  letter  I  received  from 
Dan  last  night  ?  " — this  from  Cousin  Beth.  "  He 
says  the  madame  talks  in  her  sleep  of 
apocalyptic  visions,  and  that  she  gets  up  at  all 
hours  to  seek  a  sign  in  the  heavens." 

"  Umph,"  grumpily  from  under  the  hat. 

"  It  seems  that  an  English  party  has  joined 
them  at  the  Springs,  and  one  of  them,  a  clergy 
man,  is  making  a  study  of  the  Miller  fanaticism. 
She  hears  the  subject  talked  of  continually,  and 
really  she  is  getting  in  a  very  bad  way." 

"  She'll  be  coming  here  of  course." 

"  I  hardly  think  so ;  and  yet  Dan  writes  as  if 
he  wishes  they  might." 

"  I  knew  they  would  come,"  dropping  her 
work  and  folding  her  arms.  "  Did  you  never 
think  that  Adam  and  Eve  had  something  in 
their  exile  to  be  thankful  for?  Better  hoe  thistles 
in  a  strange  land  than  have  all  creation  sow 
ing  your  bowers  to  brambles." 

But  Cousin  Beth  was  hardly  listening. 


8o  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  Letitia  Barkenstone 
all  day  and  what  she  could  and  must  do  for 
Sam,"  lowering  her  voice. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  woman  is  deranged  ?  " 
throwing  her  head  back  until  the  round  convex 
spectacles  were  visible. 

"  Possible  she  was  never  arranged.  I  have 
thought  that  if  she  really  believes  the  world  is 
to  come  to  an  end  this  fall,  she  may  be  disposed 
to  make  her  peace  with  her  brother." 

"  She  is  likely  to  impoverish  herself  in  Miller- 
ism,  it  is  said.  Sam  had  better  become  a  con 
vert." 

"She  is  a  shrewd  financier,  not  easily  duped; 
and  unless  she  is  greatly  changed,  she  would 
drive  a  hard  bargain  with  him  if  he  did." 

"  She  thinks  he  is  dead,  don't  she  ?  "  sewing 
briskly,  her  work  held  close  to  her  eyes. 

"  She  pretends  to  think  so,"  said  Cousin  Beth, 
telling  Dr.  Wardell,  who  had  shaken  off  his 
slumber  and  drawn  his  chair  beside  them,  upon 
her  fingers  what  they  were  talking  about. 

"  She  may  preach  to  me  all  she  wants  to,"  he 
said,  looking  for  his  page  in  Pickwick,  "  if  she 
will  only  will  do  the  right  thing  by  Sam.  I  am 
a  Harry  Clay  man  myself,  and  don't  take  any 


THE  HERMITAGE.  8 1 

stock  in  Texas  Annexation,  and  mobbing  Aboli 
tionists,  and  all  that,  but  when  a  woman  like 
Letitia  Barkenstone  takes  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  in  good  money  out  of  her  own  brother's 
pocket,  as  she  did  out  of  Sam's  when  she  ran 
off  that  old  Merit  he  talks  so  much  about,  I 
would  have  her  answer  for  it  in  some  way,  that's 
all." 

"  Well,  what  difference  does  it  make  whether 
she  did  or  didn't?  "  asked  Cousin  Vic  musingly, 
mindful  of  a  slight  movement  in  the  couch. 
"  The  grand  farce  is  to  end  sooner  or  later  in  a 
stupendous  spectacular  display,  a  burning  up  of 
the  experiment  in  which  Omnipotence  has  been 
plainly  outwitted,  as  I  see  things.  If  the  world 
is  to  end  this  fall,  as  Letitia  Barkenstone  is 
preaching — " 

"  Fiddlesticks !  "  said  Doctor  Wardell,  who 
had  been  nervously  watching  Cousin  Beth's 
interpreting  fingers:  "  I  thought  her  too  sensible 
to  go  into  such  a  crack-brained  delusion." 

"Now  it>  won't  do  for  old  fashioned  Church 
men  like  you,  Doctor  Wardell,"  speaking  slowly 
that  Cousin  Beth  might  not  miss  a  word,  "  to 
call  the  literal  Second  Coming  a  delusion.  Why 
don't  that '  quickly  '  give  believers  better  reason 


82  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

for  expecting  the  end  this  fall  than  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago  ?  " 

The  doctor  laughed  and  fanned  his  rosy  face 
vehemently. 

"Yes,  I  am  an  old  fashioned  Churchman, 
thank  the  Lord.  When  the  Church  cries  out 
that  the  end  of  the  world  is  at  hand,  that  will 
be  time  enough  for  me  to  arise  and  shout  '  He 
cometh '  !  I'll  trust  the  learned  prelates  of 
England  for  not  letting  a  Yankee  farmer  get 
the  start  of  them  in  blowing  the  trumpet  of 
Zion." 

"  But  the  Church  has  taught  more  than  once 
in  her  history  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
close  at  hand.  From  the  beginning  there  has 
been  a  faction  in  the  Church,  and  not  seldom  the 
dominant  majority,  proclaiming  the  field  ripe 
for  the  harvest,  the  bonfire  ready  for  the  spark." 

"  The  literal  rather  than  the  spiritual  inter 
pretation  of  the  word,"  Cousin  Beth  was  saying, 
when  Doctor  Wardell's  wandering  gaze  was 
transfixed  upon  the  figure  of  a  young  girl 
emerging  from  the  wood. 

"  We  have  a  visitor,  ladies,"  and  he  arose  and 
descended  the  piazza,  steps,  his  face  beaming  a 
welcome ;  "  one  of  the  wild  dryads  of  these 


THE  HERMITAGE.  83 

woods,  possibly.  She  seems  inclined  to  retreat. 
How  in  the  world  did  she  ever  get  over  that 
fence?  " 

Phil  and  Marjory  reined  in  their  horses  be 
side  the  thick  wood,  behind  which  they  knew 
"  the  Hermitage  "  was  to  be  found.  A  road 
from  the  highway  had  yet  to  be  opened.  The 
only  entrance  was  by  a  lane  across  a  neighbor 
ing  farm.  Not  until  Marjory  had  dismounted, 
and  that  without  his  aid,  did  Phil  discover  that 
she  was  in  unusually  fine  feather  for  the  occa 
sion.  Her  usual  riding  costume,  a  boy's  hat,  a 
sober  brown  frock,  the  short  skirt  revealing  her 
neat  top  boots,  had  given  place  to  a  green  cloth 
habit,  gay  with  silver  buttons,  a  velvet  cap  with 
snowy  plume,  and  what  struck  him  as  the  most 
nonsensical  finery  of  all,  a  pair  of  long  yellow 
gauntlets  and  a  whip  unlike  anything  he  had 
ever  seen  before.  How  fine  she  was !  and  he 
had  never  seen  her  magnificence  until  that 
moment ;  and  she  had  been  enjoying  his  blind 
ness,  of  course,  letting  him  ride  beside  her  in  his 
butternut  corduroys,  and  without  his  coat,  of 
course,  for  was  it  not  a  very  hot  day  ?  Well,  he 
was  not  sure  he  would  have  dressed  differently 
even  to  please  her.  He  had  no  idea  of  making 


84  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

a  fool  of  himself  for  this  Sir  Victor  Nevande- 
less.  From  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  hoped 
the  owner  of  the  pencil  was  some  crusty  old 
fellow,  who  would  offer  her  a  shilling  for  her 
pains.  A  lesson  of  that  sort  might  be  whole 
some  for  some  folks,  thought  Phil,  taking  Nan's 
bridle  without  a  word,  while  Marjory  peered 
through  the  jungle  to  discover  something  like 
a  path,  with  sharp  comment  upon  Sir  Victor's 
disregard  of  the  convenience  of  his  visitors. 
Phil  had  his  hands  full  with  Nan,  but  he  saw 
Marjory  toss  her  smart  whip  over  the  fence, 
"  As  if  she  needed  the  silly  thing,"  mused  he, 
and  before  he  could  help  her  she  was  on  the 
other  side  herself,  the  long  train  of  her  riding 
habit  over  her  arm. 

"  Now  don't  get  into  a  fume,  Phil,  if  I  am  not 
back  in  half  a  second,"  and  she  readjusted  her 
pretty  cap.  "  There's  no  knowing  what  I  shall 
get  into,  you  know,"  laughing  merrily.  "  But 
that's  what  I  like,  an  adventure  like  this.  I'll 
use  my  whistle  if  I  need  you,  if  I  find  myself 
in  the  meshes  of  a  fiery  dragon,"  and  she  dis 
appeared,  and  only  that  Nan  was  master  of  the 
situation  he  would  have  followed  her. 

"  To  think  of  my  letting  her  go  off  alone  like 


THE  HERMITAGE.  85 

that !  Stand  still,  you  vixen,"  laying  a  caressing 
hand  upon  the  glossy  mane.  Nan  champed  her 
bit,  pawed  the  turf,  pointing  her  thin  ears  back 
ward  and  forward,  stretching  her  head  far  over 
the  fence,  whinnying  in  answer  to  the  voice 
calling  to  her  once  or  twice.  "  It's  a  fine  pair 
you  make,  you  two,  you  are  about  as  much  as 
I  care  to  handle.  You  hate  the  bit  and  bridle, 
don't  you,  Nan?  "  drawing  the  snorting  nostrils 
close  to  his  cheek.  "  It  wouldn't  take  much  to 
spoil  you.  Any  fool  with  a  whip  could  do  that. 
How  much  would  you  be  worth  in  the  plough, 
Nan  ?  Not  the  shoes  you  stand  in,  would  you?" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MARS  SAM. 

f)EFORE  she  found  herself  in  full  sight  of 
JL)  the  group  on  the  Hermitage  piazza.,  the 
adventure  had  lost  its  romance  to  Marjory,  and 
she  became  painfully  conscious  of  the  impro 
priety  of  what  she  was  doing.  She  half  wished 
she  had  asked  Phil  to  go  with  her,  "  butter 
nuts  "  and  all,  but  there  was  Nan,  and  then 
Phil  would  have  given  up  the  pencil  just  as  if 
he  meant  it  should  bring  him  an  honest  penny. 
No,  she  would  go  through  with  it.  What  was 
there  so  dreadful  in  giving  up  a  pencil  stolen 
by  a  pet  crow  ?  But  she  had  not  thought  to 
reach  the  house  so  soon,  and  to  confront  such 
a  company,  evidently  surprised  at  her  appear 
ance. 

She  stopped  short,  tapped  her  foot  with  her 
whip  handle,  and  having  mastered  the  impulse 
to  retreat,  advanced  with  a  long  swinging  step, 
her  head  thrown  back,  her  brown  cheeks 


MARS  SAM.  87 

glowing,  the  pencil  upheld  in  her  hand,  the 
sight  of  which  and  her  simple  presentation  of  it 
to  Dr.  Wardell,  made  her  reception  the  reverse 
of  embarrassing.  And  she  was  soon  seated  in 
the  midst  of  the  circle,  telling  them  in  her 
sparkling  way  of  Poll-Betsey,  and  the  discovery 
of  the  turret,  with  an  amusing  account  of  the 
dispute  concerning  the  inscription  "  Victor 
Nevandeless." 

"  What  a  dreadfully  disappointed  child  you 
must  be  !  "  said  Cousin  Vic,  throwing  back  her 
head  to  scrutinize  Marjory  through  her  eye 
glasses  on  a  level  with  the  tip  of  her  nose. 
"What  havoc  the  actual  is  bound  to  make  with 
one's  ideal !  Ah,  here  is  our  Sir  Victor  Nevan 
deless."  For  Sam  had  come  forward  after 
having  been  a  silent  listener  to  the  conversa 
tion,  seemingly  asleep  ;  a  conversation  in  which 
old  Merit  had  had  special  mention.  In  the 
confusion  of  the  presentation  Marjory  missed 
hearing  his  true  name,  for  Dr.  Wardell,  unnoting 
the  introduction,  was  telling  the  pranks  of  a  pet 
crow  of  his  boyhood,  and  Marjory,  all  unused 
to  such  courtly  addresses  as  that  of  Sir  Victor, 
lost  the  true  name  entirely. 

"  If  you  will  believe  me,"  said  Sam  in  a  con- 


88  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

fidential  aside  to  Cousin  Vic,  Marjory  giving 
attention  to  the  doctor's  every  word,  "  I  was 
dreaming  of  that  old  house  I  saw  from  the 
turret  this  morning,  when  I  woke  up  hearing 
her  story  of  the  crow's  nest  and  the  pencil." 

Marjory  became  conscious  of  Sir  Victor's 
absorbed  attention  in  her  animated  conversa 
tion  with  Miss  Culbertson,  and  the  thread  of 
her  story  concerning  some  of  old  Merit's  enter 
taining  peculiarities  had  been  hopelessly  tangled 
but  for  Sir  Victor's  graceful  assistance.  He  led 
her  on  in  her  story  telling  until  she  was  quite 
at  her  ease  again,  and  had  given  them  pleasant 
glimpses  of  life  at  Barley  Flats. 

"  I  know  your  house  very  well,"  said  Sir  Vic 
tor.  "  I  had  a  long  look  at  it  through  my  glass 
this  morning.  I  think  it  was  trying  to  tell  me 
you  were  coming  over  here.  It  blinked  its  one 
dormer  window  of  an  eye  confidentially,  but  I 
am  not  so  wise  as  Cousin  Beth  here  in  such  mat 
ters  and  I  did  not  really  understand.  She  will 
talk  with  you  of  the  personality  of  houses  and 
all  that,  and  convince  you  that  houses  have 
an  inner  consciousness  independent  of  their 
inmates." 

"  \Ve  ought  to  have  a  Society  for  the  Promo- 


MARS  SAM.  89 

tion  of  Sympathy  with  Neglected  Houses," 
spoke  up  Cousin  Vic.  "  A  society  for  the  inter 
pretation  of  inarticulate  barns,  the  cultivation  of 
sympathy  with  unappreciated  meeting  houses, 
the  relieving  of  the  woes  of  old  mills,  and  the 
like." 

Marjory  thought  she  heard  a  peremptory 
whistle  from  beyond  the  wood  and  arose  rather 
abruptly  to  take  leave,  declining  Dr.  Wardell's 
offer  to  send  for  her  horse  with  a  decision  he 
was  forced  to  admit  as  final. 

She  had  shown  some  hesitancy  in  inviting 
them  to  Barley  Flats,  but  the  invitation  had 
been  given,  and  warmly  accepted,  Miss  Cul- 
bertson  interceding  for  the  life  of  Poll-Betsey, 
to  whom  the  Hermitage  was  so  much  indebted. 
Thereupon  Victoria  Barry  begged  that  the 
condemned  crow  should  be  given  her,  and  Sam 
importuned,  when  Marjory  assured  her  she 
should  have  him  and  welcome,  that  old  Merit 
be  permitted  to  bring  him  to  his  new  home,  an 
arrangement  Marjory  consented  to,  concealing 
her  misgiving  of  Poll-Betsey's  arrival  in  such 
case. 

Sir  Victor  followed  her  down  the  steps,  and 
to  her  great  discomfiture  signified  his  inten- 


90  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

tion  to  attend  her  through  the  wood.  He 
walked  beside  her,  saying  airy  nothings  with 
charming  grace,  and  removing  every  obstacle 
from  her  path.  She  smiled  when  he  helped 
her  over  a  thread  of  a  brook  she  could  have 
cleared  so  easily  without  him. 

"  Black  servants  are  very  uncommon  in  this 
neighborhood,  are  they  not  ?  "  He  was  walking 
before,  holding  back  the  obstructing  boughs. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are  few  and  far  between." 
She  could  hear  Phil  chiding  Nan.  What  a 
time  he  must  have  had  waiting  so  long,  and 
the  mosquitoes  so  troublesome !  She  wished 
Sir  Victor  in  Timbuctoo. 

"  And  this  old  Merit's  wife  is  with  him  ? 
America,  I  think  you  called  her: — such  odd 
names  some  of  those  Southern  negroes  have." 

Now  Marjory  had  not  mentioned  America 
nor  Merit's  Southern  antecedents,  and  only  that 
her  mind  was  elsewhere  she  would  have  remem 
bered  it. 

"We  always  call  her  Meriky.  I  call  her 
mammy." 

"That's  Southern,"  stopping  short,  but  she 
did  not  turn  around.  "  How  long  have  these 
blacks  been  with  you?" 


MARS  SAM.  91 

"How  long?"  Possibly  the  shade  of  impa 
tience  in  her  voice  prompted  him  to  move  for 
ward.  "  You  will  have  to  ask  Aunt  Prissy. 
Their  coming  here  was  before  my  time." 

He  had  fallen  behind  her,  holding  back  an  . 
elder  bush   for   her   to   pass,  and  she  did  not 
observe  the  change  in  his  voice  when  he  asked, 
"  But  are  they  contented  here  at  the  North  ?  " 

"  Contented  ?     Why  shouldn't  they  be  ?  " 

"  But  this  old  Merit,  does  he  never  have 
what  he  calls  his  '  down  days ',  when  he  feels 
'  never  so  sot  down  on  '  in  all  his  life  ?  " 

"  Those  are  his  very  words  when  he  is  in  a 
croaking  fit ;  but  then  he  is  the  happiest  of 
us  all !  " 

"  He  misses  the  old  plantation  life  of  course. 
I  can  not  believe  he  is  really  happy  here.  I 
have  lived  at  the  South,  was  brought  up  among 
negroes.  A  homesick  nigger  !  " 

"  But  they  are  not  homesick,"  persisted  Mar 
jory  ;  "  and  how  do  you  know  that  they  ever 
lived  in  the  South?" 

"  Oh,  a  little  bird  told  me." 

"Yes,  I  know  what  is  said  by  everybody, 
but  no  one  can  prove  their  surmises.  I  sup 
pose  if  it  were  widely  reported  that  runaway 


92  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

slaves  were  harbored  at  our  house  some  one 
would  come  and  drag  them  away." 

"  Nonsense,  Miss  Burke ;  you  know  bet 
ter.  You  admit,  of  course,  that  the  rightful 
owner — " 

"  They  have  no  rightful  owner  but  them 
selves." 

Phil's  whistle  rang  shrilly  through  the  wood. 

"  Readers  of  the  Liberator  believe,  you  know, 
that  slavery  is  the  sum  of  all  villainies." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  he  said  slowly. 

Another  imperative  whistle. 

"  Yes,  Phil,  I  am  coming,"  cheerily  and  sweet. 
Then,  lowering  her  voice  to  Sir  Victor  : 

"  Now  you  will  see  my  adopted  brother.  He 
has  good  reason  for  being  vexed  at  my  stay 
ing  so  long ;"  cutting  short  a  pretty  compliment 
by  adding,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  fun,  "  I  must 
introduce  you  as  Sir  Victor.  Please  mind  your 
part." 

"  Ah,  Phil,  is  it  you  ?  "  He  was  glowering 
savagely  enough.  "  Beyond  this  wood  I  found 
the  land  of  romance ;  behold  the  knight  of  my 
quest,  Sir  Victor  Nevandeless  !  " 

It  was  impossible  for  Phil  to  do  more  than 
glance  at  Sir  Victor,  who  stood  twisting  his 


MARS  SAM.  93 

long  moustache  and  expressing  his  pleasure  at 
the  meeting,  with  regrets  that  Mr.  Ottoway 
had  not  accompanied  Miss  Burke  to  the  house. 

He  sat  down  on  a  log  to  look  matters  in  the 
face.  He  must  first  make  sure  that  the  old 
black  man  was  no  other  than  "  Uncle  Merit  ". 

If  so,  what  a  godsend  !  Letitia  Barken- 
stone  should  pay  for  their  freedom,  and  so 
make  a  partial  reparation.  What  a  lucky  dog 
he  was  after  all !  That  morning  he  could  have 
sworn  that  fortune  had  deserted  him  utterly. 
He  would  not  care  to  confront  the  scorn  of  that 
young  girl's  eyes  did  she  believe  he  would  traf 
fic  in  human  flesh  :  send  their  old  servants  to 
the  block.  He  did  not  mean  to  do  that  ;  would 
not  do  it.  Cousin  Vic  must  help  him  in  devis 
ing  a  clever  scheme  for  outwitting  Letitia  Bar- 
kenstone. 

•*  *  #  %  V: 

"  You  are  bound  to  ruin  that  mare,  Mar 
jory." 

She  had  let  Nan  have  her  head  and  Phil  had 
kept  up  as  he  could.  They  had  turned  into 
the  cross  road  leading  to  the  old  house  when 
their  horses  fell  into  a  leisurely  walk.  Phil 
was  the  first  to  speak. 


94  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Now  don't  begin  to  fret  about  Nan,"  eye 
ing  him  covertly.  "  Why  don't  you  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  Sir  Victor  Nevandeless?  " 

He  maintained  a  successful  pretence  of 
studying  the  condition  of  her  horse. 

"  Never  mind  Nan,"  with  winning  persist 
ence.  "  How  did  you  like  Sir  Victor  ?  " 

"  Sir  Victor  !  "  contemptuously.  "  When 
you  make  me  believe  that  is  his  name  it  will  be 
after  to-day.  Did  he  pay  over  the  five  dol 
lars?" 

"  Oh  Phil  I  Phil !  what  a  blunder  !  "  One 
smart  stroke  of  her  whip  and  Nan  shot  ahead 
like  the  wind.  He  held  his  horse  in  check,  and 
rode  meditatively  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust,  until 
he  overtook  Marjory  at  Peggy  Cameron's  cot 
tage,  the  lodge  at  Barley  Flats.  The  twilight 
was  falling,  and  Peggy's  shrill  voice  shut  out  the 
song  of  the  chirruping  insects,  and  the  lowing 
of  the  cows,  to  which  he  had  been  listening  as 
he  dreamily  whipped  the  dust  from  his  trou 
sers.  If  Marjory  had  a  mind  to  spoil  Nan,  she 
must,  that  was  all,  but  he  would  not  hear  her 
talk  about  that  idiot,  Sir  Victor. 

But  Peggy  Cameron's  story  drove  all  else 
from  his  mind.  She  was  telling  it  with  both 


MARS  SAM.  95 

hands  held  tight  over  her  heart,  her  wide  cap 
border  flapping  to  her  gasping. 

"  Oo,  ay !  He's  gist  gane  up  ta  t'  hoos  spite 
o'  a'  I  could  sae  and  da.  He's  a  wild  ranter  ta 
be  share.  His  wurrds  come  like  water  frae  a  fon. 
Danal  says  he's  been  scraughing  roond  the 
town  for  a  week  or  mair  an'  cursin'  abody  frae 
the  Bible  in  his  han'  and  tellin'  God  Almighty 
is  gaun  to  burn  up  the  wurld  afore  neist  hars't, 
an' the  laddies  warkin'  sae  hard  a'  simmer." 

"  Oh,  Peggy,  to  think  a  pious  old  saint  like 
you  should  be  afraid  of  anything  the  Lord  can 
do  ;  "  and  Marjory's  laughter  pealed  out  like 
silver  bells.  The  barking  of  the  dogs  was  heard 
near  the  house. 

"  Make  haste,  Phil.  Did  you  tell  him  about 
the  dogs,  Peggy?" 

"  Oo,  ay  ;  it's  naithing  he  cares  aboat  dugs 
an'  auld  wives  like  me." 

"  I  know  the  man,"  Phil  was  saying.  "  He 
was  preaching  on  the  post-office  steps  yester 
day  with  his  cattle  show  of  a  chart.  He  wants 
the  camp  ground  for  a  Millerite  meeting." 

"Oh,  let  him  have  it,  Phil ;  don't  let  Aunt 
Prissy  refuse ;  a  Millerite  camp  meeting  would 
be  rare  sport  for  us,  such  a  lark  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

ELDER     STIGGINS. 

summer  of  1844  is  memorable  in  the 
_L       history  of  fanaticism. 

The  tenth  day  of  the  seventh  month, 
October  236,  "  with  a  marginal  extension 
possibly,  but  not  probably,  to  the  25th," 
was  the  day  fixed  upon  by  the  believers  in 
the  doctrines  of  Father  Miller,  as  the  one  des 
ignated  in  prophecy  as  the  last  day,  when 
the  Lord  should  literally  descend  from  heaven, 
and  the  world  and  all  that  therein  is  should  be 
burned  up.  These  believers,  some  fifty  thou 
sand  in  the  United  States,  went  forth  that  sum 
mer  to  proclaim  the  Midnight  Cry.  The 
Christian  world  was  sensibly  disturbed  by  their 
proclaiming  in  season  and  out  of  season 
that  the  end  of  all  things  was  at  hand.  Thou 
sands  who  scoffed  at  the  teachings  of  Father 
Miller  in  public,  trembled  in  secret  :  doubting 
if  he  were  not  a  true  prophet,  and  if  they  for 


ELDER  STIGGINS.  97 

their  cowardice  should  not  be  burned  up  root 
and  branch. 

The  fanaticism  was  no  new  thing  in  the 
history  of  Christianity.  It  was  a  fresh  out 
burst  of  an  old  error,  the  legitimate  result  of 
centuries  of  authorized  teaching  ;  the  mathe 
matical  deductions  from  literal  interpretation  of 
unfulfilled  prophecy. 

Millerism  burned  over  a  wide  territory. 
William  Miller  was  a  devote  Bible  student  of 
the  school  of  literalism,  nor  did  he  originate 
the  inflammatory  gospel  whose  first  fagots  were 
kindled  by  the  misinterpretation  of  the  promise 
"  behold  I  come  quickly." 

The  open  opposition  which  Millerism 
received  from  the  established  sects  was  not 
against  its  fundamental  theory  that  the  proph 
ecies  should  be  interpreted  literally,  but  the 
legitimate  outcome  of  that  theory,  the  pre 
tended  discovery  of  the  exact  time  of  the 
Second  Coming  by  that  same  literalism.  The 
calculation  of  times  and  dividing  of  times  was 
right  enough  if  stress  were  not  laid  upon  the 
grand  total,  the  amount  of  a  simple  sum  in 
addition.  A  distinction  was  to  be  made  be 
tween  the  mathematical  certainty,  and  "  thus 


98  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

saith  the  Lord."  Bible  students,  the  world 
over,  were  absorbed  in  the  doctrine  of  the 
millennium,  the  resurrection,  and  the  return 
of  the  Jews.  The  literalists  were  far  in  the 
lead  in  the  treatment  of  these  subjects,  and  it 
seems  strange  to  us  of  to-day  that  the  revival 
of  the  cry  of  the  Speedy  Coming  was  sneered 
at  by  orthodoxy  generally,  and  its  converts 
turned  adrift  from  the  venerable  crafts  that 
could  not  endure  the  perpetual  trumpeting  of 
the  Midnight  Cry. 

Looking  over  the  considerable  and  most 
respectable  literature  of  that  fanaticism  to-day, 
one  is  at  loss  to  see  what  the  denunciation  of 
the  literalists  was  founded  upon.  Millerism 
was  the  grand  illustration  of  literalism.  How 
plain  it  was  on  the  old  Millerite  chart,  with 
its  astounding  delineations  of  the  beasts  of 
apocalyptic  vision,  the  expression  in  pine  and 
paint  of  some  untutored  conception  of  what 
Nebuchadnezzar's  image  was  like,  deftly  con 
trived  for  separation,  kingdom  by  kingdom,  the 
great  dragon  with  its  tail  lashing  the  stars,  the 
mathematical  calculations  verified  by  Scripture 
in  large  type,  all  testifying  that  time  must  end 
A.  D.  1843.  The  fact  that  the  year  1843  had 


ELDER  STIGGINS.  99 

passed  by,  and  that  the  summer  of  1844  was 
well  advanced,  was  satisfactorily  explained. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  forty-three  Jewish  time, 
did  not  end  until  1844  Roman  time,  and  who 
would  question  that  Jewish  authority  was  par 
amount  in  such  matters  ? 

The  believers  had  trimmed  their  lamps  and 
gone  forth  to  meet  the  Bridegroom  in  1843. 
That  going  forth  they  found  in  due  season  was, 
according  to  their  interpretation  at  least,  a  ful 
fillment  of  prophecy.  "  Though  the  vision 
tarry,  wait  for  it."  It  would  tarry  until  Oct 
ober  25,  1844.  The  words  "  of  that  day  and 
hour  knoweth  no  man  "  had  no  reference  to 
what  one  could  not  help  but  knowing,  they 
said,  if  the  Bible  were  studied  as  it  should 
be.  The  exact  time  when  the  stone  should 
smite  the  image  on  the  feet,  how  could  they 
help  but  know  it  with  their  calculations  of 
the  seven  times  and  their  knowledge 
of  the  precise  duration  of  the  several  king 
doms?  The  seven  times  began  with  Baby 
lon,  677  years  before  Christ,  and  these  seven 
times  were  2520  years,  and  then  like  any  simple 
sum  in  subtraction  was  2520 — 677=1843.  The 
getting  of  that  2520  years  was  easy  enough  : 


I  oo  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

one  had  but  to  multiply  seven  (representing 
times)  by  12  (representing  months)  and  the  pro 
duct  by  30  (representing  days),  and  there  it 
was.  And  so  with  the  prophetic  calculation 
illustrated  by  the  lion,  the  bear,  the  leopard, 
and  the  "  great  and  terrible  "  beasts  of  Daniel's 
vision,  seemingly  striding  in  dread  processional 
through  a  maze  of  dates.  Mathematical  calcu 
lation  and  prophecy  led  to  the  sure  goal  there 
was  no  evading,  A.  D.  1843.  And  so  with  the 
rest  of  the  prophecies  of  the  Second  Coming — 
prophecies  whose  realistic  representation  by 
horned  beasts,  angels  blowing  trumpets,  and 
flowing  vials,  the  casting  of  the  devil  into  a 
bottomless  pit,  etc.,  etc.,  all  culminating  in 
A.  D.  1 843,  made  the  old  Millerite  chart  a  power 
ful  attraction  to  the  scoffer,  who  could  find  no 
error  in  its  mathematics,  however  he  might 
marvel  at  its  zoological  eccentricities. 

They  were  in  earnest,  those  "  tenth  day 
Millerites  of  A.  D.  1844."  The  heroism  of  the 
martyrs  of  old  repeated  itself  in  their  adherence 
to  their  faith,  their  scorn  of  derision  and  perse 
cution.  Their  unploughed  and  unsown  fields 
proclaimed  their  disbelief  in  another  harvest. 
The  Millerite  preacher  was  ubiquitous.  There 


ELDER  S  TIG  GINS.  IOI 

was  no  escaping  his  chart  and  his  tracts,  and 
many,  dissatisfied  with  the  dry  dust  of  the 
orthodox  theology,  found  a  grim  fascination  in 
the  near  fulfillment  of  Father  Miller's  gospel. 
The  spiritual  ignorance  of  the  masses  was,  as 
ever,  the  ready  building  material  of  a  delusion 
supported  by  half  truths  and  fallacies.  Few  of 
us  can  realize  what  it  was  to  live  in  constant 
expectation  of  hearing  the  trump  of  doom,  of 
going  to  bed  each  night  confident  that  the 
graves  might  be  giving  up  their  dead  before 
daybreak. 

When  Marjory  and  Phil  rode  up  to  the  porch, 
the  preacher  was  too  absorbed  in  emptying  vial 
after  vial  of  prophetic  wrath  to  note  their 
arrival.  Each  of  his  "listeners  had  a  growling, 
infuriated  dog  in  check,  except  America,  who 
was  hardly  to  be  trusted  with  one  on  that  occa 
sion.  Priscilla  Ottoway  stood  in  the  full  star 
light  making  vain  efforts  to  be  heard,  to  send 
the  intruder  away,  but  she  might  as  well  have 
spoken  to  the  wind. 

"  Woe  unto  you,  Pharisees,  Hypocrites  !  " 
sawing  the  air  with  his  arms,  his  long,  limp  coat 
suggesting  draggled  plumage,  his  harsh  voice 
husky  and  broken  with  excessive  overstrain. 


102  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Woe  unto  you,  lovers  of  pleasure  more  than 
lovers  of  God !  The  doom  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah  awaits  you  !  You  have  spit  upon  the 
Lord's  anointed,  and  so  it  shall  be  done  unto 
you  in  that  day,  that  day  that  cometh,  that 
shall  burn  as  an  oven,  that  shall  burn  you  up, 
root  and  branch." 

Phil  uplifted  his  whip  with  an  oath.  "  Off 
with  you,"  and  the  dogs  yelped  with  excite 
ment. 

"  Smite,  if  you  will,"  serenely  managing  to 
get  out  of  the  reach  of  the  lash,  while  Marjory 
begged  Phil  to  control  himself.  "  He  will  pour 
out  His  fury  upon  the  horse  and  his  rider  " — 
Phil  had  not  left  his  saddle.  "  He  hath  sharp 
ened  His  sword  for  the-  slaughter.  Cry  out 
and  howl,  son  of  man,"  stepping  back  with  wise 
caution  ;  "  smite  thine  hands  together,  and  He 
that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh,  when  He 
is  come  to  overturn,  overturn  and  overturn  ;  " 
drawing  closer  and  closer  to  the  porch,  within 
whose  shadows  Priscilla  Ottoway  had  disap 
peared,  after  ordering  Merit  to  take  the  dogs 
away.  The  preacher  was  now  gazing  stonily 
at  Marjory,  rolling  out  his  Scriptural  phrase 
ology  at  her,  his  long  finger  pointed  steadily  to 


ELDER  STIGGINS.  103 

her  face.  Nan  was  cropping  the  grass  where 
she  had  left  her  when  she  slipped  from  the 
saddle.  The  girl  stood  with  her  riding  skirt 
over  her  arm,  contemplating  their  strange  visi 
tor,  plainly  amused  by  his  speech  and  gesticu 
lations,  and  impatient  lest  Phil  should  abbre 
viate  the  comedy. 

"  Daughter  of  Babylon  !  "  and  Marjory  made 
signs  for  Phil  to  keep  silent.  "  Daughter  of 
Babylon,  the  whirlwind  is  gathering  that  will 
shrivel  your  beauty,  and  hurl  you  out  from  your 
pleasant  places,  and  dash  your  lovers  to  the 
ground  !  " 

Phil  would  bear  no  more,  and  the  preacher's 
exit  had  been  precipitated  in  spite  of  Marjory's 
intercessions,  but  for  a  shrill  prolonged  cry 
from  the  window  of  Annie  Burke's  chamber, 
which  turned  every  eye  in  that  direction. 
There  she  stood  in  her  white  raiment,  her  hands 
clasped  in  entreaty. 

"  Do  not  send  him  away,  you  must  not !  He 
brings  me  a  message,"  and  before  Priscilla 
Ottoway  could  reach  her,  she  had  dropped  to 
the  floor  in  a  swoon.  In  the  excitement  Elder 
Stiggins  placidly  took  possession  of  the  most 
comfortable  chair  upon  the  porch,  and  when 


104  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

America,  who  was  the  first  to  remember  him, 
came  down  from  Annie's  chamber,  he  was 
quietly  looking  over  the  pile  of  tracts  he  had 
brought  forth  from  his  big  carpet-bag,  having 
helped  himself  to  a  candle  and  a  glass  of  water. 

"You'd  bettah  be  gittin'  out  dis  yeah," 
and  she  planted  herself  stolidly  before  him,  her 
arms  folded,  her  eyes  regarding  him  with  the 
dull,  narrow  vision  Merit  had  learned  to  inter 
pret  as  a  warning. 

Elder  Stiggins  stretched  out  his  hand.  "  I 
praise  the  Lord,  sister,"  rubbing  his  rejected 
hand  warmly  as  compensation  for  his  rebuff, 
"that  He  hath  brought  my  feet  within  your 
gates  this  night.  My  foe  hath  become  my 
brother,  my  familiar  friend,  and  in  the  name  of 
our  common  Master,  dear  sister." 

"  We'se  no  use  for  massars  round  heah," 
never  changing  a  muscle  ;  "you'se  bettah  take 
you  self  orf,"  her  fingers  moving  stiffly  up  and 
down,  an  ominous  \varning. 

Marjory  was,  however,  in  season  to  prevent 
what  seemed  inevitable.  Her  mother's  wrords 
had  not  been  in  vain.  The  sullen  old  mammy 
was  sent  to  the  kitchen  for  food  for  the  preacher, 
and  then  there  was  no  withstanding  Marjory's 


ELDER  ST ICG  INS.  105 

plea  that  he  should  have  a  bed.  Phil  sighed, 
but  Aunt  Prissy  consented.  She  rose,  however, 
betimes  in  the  morning  to  hasten  his  departure, 
which  was  easily  brought  about  on  her  consent 
ing  to  let  the  big  tent  camp  meeting  have  the 
use  of  her  grounds.  What  did  it  matter  to  her 
what  doctrine  was  preached  there  ? 

Merit  was  awake.  He  had  not  slept  that 
night.  He  stole  out  in  the  day-break  and 
joined  the  preacher  on  the  cross  road.  He 
came  back  at  his  nimblest  gait,  after  a  short 
interview,  well  loaded  down  with  tracts.  He 
awoke  America,  or  rather  before  she  was  half 
awake  he  gaspingly  began. 

"  It's  comin'  now,  Meriky.  Didn't  I  tell 
ye  ?  Hab'n't  I  bin  tellin'  ye  seems  like  a  tou- 
sand  yeahs?  Who'd  ye  tink  is  gwine  fur  to 
preach  on  dat  camp  groun'  ?  Bress  de  Lawd, 
Meriky,  'fore  I  tells  ye,"  dodging  her  wide 
sweeping  arm.  "  Jes  ye  listen  now,"  for  America 
was  muttering  dire  threats  ;  "  ole  Miss  Tisha 
is  comin',  she  gwinter  preach,  dis  preachah 
said  so,  gwine  to  preach  hows  de  wuld  is 
comin'  to  an  end  dis  fall." 

America  rose  up  slowly  from  her  pillow  and 
Merit  edged  nervously  nearer  the  door. 


106  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY, 

"  Jes  ye  open  dat  winder  wide.  Let  me  see 
jes  who  is  talkin'  dis  heah."  He  threw  back 
the  shutters  with  a  slam  and  planted  himself  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  If  dat  isn't  you,  Merit, 
ye  jis  tote  yesef  outen  dat  doah  'foah  I'se  take 
de  nonsense  outen  ye  ;  dere's  been  nuff  of  de 
debbil's  speakin'  and  makin'  bleve  roun'  heah." 
Her  sphynx-like  study  of  his  anxious  face  con 
vinced  her  that  she  was  dealing  with  tangible 
things.  "  Now  I'se  got  suffin'  to  say  to  yer, 
Merit,"  her  voice  sinking  into  its  sepulchral 
depths,  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  palms  of  her 
hands  :  "de  debbil  has  an  eye  on  us  heah — on 
Miss  Annie  and  Miss  Marjory  and " — with 
closer  scrutiny  of  the  lines — "  yes,  on  de  hul  of 
us.  Dat  wussent  Miss  Annie  lookin'  outen  dat 
winder,  and  dat  wussent  no  preachah  for  ye  to 
go  bressin'  de  Lawd  ober;  and  mind  ye,  now, 
mind  wot  I  say,  dere  won't  be  no  Miss  Tisha 
eder."  Merit  falteringly  tried  to  contradict  her. 
"  Not  anudder  word  'bout  Miss  Tisha.  Tinks 
I'se  gwine  ter bleve  it's  Miss  Tisha?  Den  wars 
Uncle  Joswer  and  Mars  Sam,  and  wars  me  and 
yous  gwine  to  'foah  ebber  dis  world  gits  on 
fiah?"  Again  Merit  tried  to  explain.  "You 
jes  lebe  the  debbil  to  me.  Don'  ye  go  foolin' 


ELDER  STIGGINS.  107 

roun'  him  callin'  him  de  angel  ob  de  Lawd,  les' 
yer  wanter  be  sold  down  de  ribber,  and  whose 
gvvine  terbuya  broken  up  oleniggah  like  you? 
Jes  ye  wait  until  Miss  Annie  wakes  up  dis 
mawnin'  and  see  wot  she  says  'foah  yer  goes  on 
foolishin'  about,  bressin'  de  Lawd. 

"  Look  a  heah  now,"  calling  him  back  after 
he  had  crept  out  crestfallen,  and  was  holding 
fast  to  the  door  handle  for  a  minute  lest  he 
should  groan  outright.  "  Jes  yer  look  a  heah. 
Don'  ye  go  tellin'  Miss  Margie  dat  Miss  Tisha's 
comin'  heah  like  a  poor-white-trash-preachin'- 
woman.  Don'  you  let  me  heah  yer  sayin'  dat 
of  de  Buckinridges — dat  dey's  goin'  ter  preach- 
in'  and  baptizin'.  Miss  Tisha's  pow'ful  sot, 
and  when  she  says  de  Lawd  is  gwine  ter  burn 
up  de  wold,  He  II  liab  to  do  it.  She'll  blow  the 
trumpet,  she  will,  when  she  gits  ready.  Mind 
now,  don'  you  tell  nobody  it's  Miss  Tisha,  or 
yer  don'  git  any  moah  'baccer,  and  I  ain't 
foolishin'  dis  mawnin'  !  " 

He  went  down  the  lane  shortly  after  in  a 
state  of  bewildered  despair.  If  that  were  not 
Miss  Annie  in  the  window,  and  if  the  preacher 
were  the  devil,  and  Miss  Titia  should  not  be 
Miss  Titia,  and  he  should  be  sold  for  a  "poor 


108  THE  M1DXIGHT  CRY. 

ole  niggah  "  down  the  river — how   timely  the 
burning  up  of  the  world  would  be  ! 

Annie  slept  later  than  usual  that  morning. 
She  gave  no  sign  of  remembering  what  had  hap 
pened  the  night  before.  Nor  did  she  betray 
the  slightest  interest  in  any  allusions  to  the 
preacher.  Her  face  brightened  when  Marjory 
was  telling  Aunt  Prissy  of  her  visit — not  a  full 
account  of  the  adventure  by  any  means,  and  it 
was  not  strange  that  Priscilla  Ottoway  was  too 
absorbed  to  call  out  the  detail  which  would 
have  resulted  in  gentle  reprimand.  Merit 
should  carry  Poll-Betsey  to  their  new  neighbors 
that  very  day.  She  was  only  too  thankful  to  be 
rid  of  the  troublesome  bird. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE." 

IN  all  his  wanderings  Sam  Breckinridge  had 
carried  Uncle  Joshua's  hickory  cane,  a  sure 
staff  fashioned  by  Merit's  own  hand  from  a 
sapling  grown  on  the  old  plantation.  Its  head 
purported  to  be  an  exact  similitude  of  Uncle 
Joshua's  favorite  mare  Poll-Betsey,  and  was  the 
work  of  Merit's  jackknife. 

The  scheme  for  identifying  the  fugitive  was 
of  Cousin  Vic's  devising.  When  Sam  Breckin 
ridge,  who  was  watching  the  old  house  with  the 
turret  telescope  the  next  morning,  declared 
that  he  could  make  out  a  rider  lazily  moving 
across  the  meadow  to  the  highway,  Cousin  Vic 
gathered  up  her  crocheting  and  followed  him, 
he  playing  drum  major  with  Uncle  Joshua's 
cane,  to  a  shady  nook  near  the  opening  in  the 
fence  through  which  old  Merit,  if  it  were  he, 
would  pass. 

Victoria  Barry's  phenomenal  gift  was  that  of 


no  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

whistler.  Her  imitations  of  bird  song  were 
remarkable,  and  as  they  made  their  way  along 
the  bosky  pathway  she  trilled  the  air,  as  a 
mocking  bird  had  done,  of  one  of  the  tunes 
Master  Sam  used  to  play  on  his  fiddle  for 
Merit's  supreme  delight. 

Sam  was  exceptionally  jubilant,  singing 
'snatches  of  the  old  melody,  between  bits  of 
story  telling.  He  found  a  pretty  and  comfort 
able  seat  for  Cousin  Vic,  and  then  threw  him 
self  down  upon  the  grass  beside  her.  Her  hat, 
as  ever,  was  drawn  well  over  her  face,  but  lean 
ing  on  his  elbow  puffing  his  cigar,  he  could  see 
her  mouth,  and  for  the  first  time  he  discovered 
•how  sweet  its  expression  was  ;  and  straightway 
he  fell  to  musing  if  it  were  her  .absorption  in 
counting  the  stitches  of  the  intricate  pattern 
she  was  following  that  made  it  so,  for  he  had 
always  thought  there  was  something  hard  and 
scornful  in  Cousin  Vic's  mouth.  And  so  there 
was,  he  admitted  a  moment  after,  when  having 
found  her  needle's  clue  after  cabalistic  mutter 
ing,  she  began,  digging  at  her  work  as  if  her 
hook  should  bring  answer  to  all  she  asked  : 

"  Sam  Breckinridge," — a  moment's  pause — 
<(  just  as  soon  as  your  health  will  permit  you  must 


"  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE."  1 1 1 

set  yourself  to  doing  something,  you  must  go 
to  work." 

He  studied  the  mouth  steadily  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  yes,  it  was  sweet  after  all.  The  momen 
tary  gleam  faded  from  his  eye  and  he  was  drows 
ily  watching  the  gyrations  of  his  smoke  clouds, 
when  she  resumed  a  trifle  more  sharply  than 
before : 

"  In  the  world's  grand  field  of  action,  how 
can  you  be  contented  in — " 

She  stopped  short,  she  was  counting  on  her 
pattern  again. 

"  Have  you  yet  to  learn,  most  noble,  most 
wise  Victoria," — not  a  shadow  of  a  smile  on 
her  mouth — "that  putting  a  canary  into  a  frog 
pond  will  not  give  you  a  good  singer  of  bass  ? 
The  Breckinridges,  my  dear  lady,  were  sent 
into  this  world — this  world  of  action — as  an 
antidote  for  its  horrible  epidemic  of  activity." 

"  Sent  into  this  world  ?  How  glibly  you 
adopt  the  phraseology  of  divine  quackery !  But 
let  that  pass.  Answer  me.  How  can  you  pas 
sively  submit  to  live  a  drifting  meaningless 
existence,  when  with  your  own  hands  you  may 
hew  out — " 

"  Something  resembling  this  achievement  of 


1 1 2  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y, 

old  Merit's,"  with  a  glance  at  the  cane  beside 
him.  "  He  cut  that  nag's  head  from  love  un 
feigned.  Hideous  as  a  work  of  art,  only  think 
if  he  had  been  compelled  to  fashion  it  for  some 
one  he  hated,  and  that  without  self-confidence 
in  his  genius,  without  hope  of  success,  what  it 
would  be?" 

"  Nonsense,  you  make  your  pretended  depre 
ciation  an  excuse  for  inertia.  You  know  you 
do  not  wholly  undervalue  yourself." 

His  cheek  flamed.  The  hand  that  had  lain 
so  languorously  upon  the  grass  was  uprooting 
it  by  wisps.  He  tossed  his  cigar  into  the 
thicket,  then  getting  up,  stood  twisting  his 
long  moustache.  She  was  counting  again,  jab 
bing  her  pattern  with  her  hook.  If  he  had  turned 
a  somersault  and  was  standing  on  his  head 
would  she  be  aware  of  the  fact  ? 

"Now,  Sam,"  with  persuasive  authority,  "go 
find  that  cigar,  for  you  have  only  begun  to 
smoke  it  ;  you  cannot  afford  such  extravagance. 
Sit  down  here  ;  I  have  something  I  particularly 
want  to  say  to  you,  something  I  came  down 
here  with  you  to  say." 

"  Hadn't  I  better  be  looking  for  that  cigar 
stub?" 


' '  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE. "  113 

"  No,  Sam,  no,  I'll  forgive  you  this  one, -if 
you'll  only  never  do  so  again.  Hear  me  out, 
Sam."  He  began  peeling  the  bark  from  a 
birch  tree  with  infinite  painstaking.  "  Hear 
me  in  the  role  of  a  prophet.  Unless  you  play 
a  sharper  game  than  you  have  ever  played 
before,  Letitia  Barkenstone  will  take  your 
last  trump." 

He  was  biting  off  a  fresh  cigar. 

"  Something  more  than  an  antidote  for 
activity  is  needed  in  this  case." 

"  Well,  what  is  needed  ?  " 

A  hard  question  for  her  to  answer  evi 
dently. 

"  In  Yankee  parlance,"  she  said  slowly  at  last 
without  looking  up,  "  you  will  have  to  play 
sharp  with  Letitia  Barkenstone." 

He  was  listening  closely. 

"  Or  she  will  outwit  you."  Another  long 
pause. 

"  Don't  you  see  what  you  have  got  to  do  ?  " 
throwing  her  head  back  and  adjusting  her 
curved  glasses  for  a  prolonged  study  of  his  face. 

"  Call  it  finesse,  or  cunning,  or  what  you  will, 
it  is  your  only  way  of  circumventing  Letitia 
Barkenstone  if  this  man  turns  out  to  be  your 


1 14  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

runaway  slave.  You  must  '  go  into'  Millerism. 
She  must  seem  to  convert  you." 

"  I  feel  premonitory  symptoms  of  real  con 
version  already,"  retorted  Sam,  gaily  sitting 
down  beside  her,  then  sighing  wearily.  "  I  am 
longing  to  be  in  dead  earnest  about  something, 
anything,  and  to  be  associated  with  those  who 
are.  Look  at  these  Millerites.  They  burn  their 
ships  behind  them.  I  saw  a  farm  the  other 
day  grown  to  weeds.  Its  owner  believes  he 
has  reaped  his  last  harvest.  I  couldn't  help 
admiring  that  man  and  his  weeds." 

The  sound  of  horse's  feet  was  heard  on  the 
highway  and  Sam  pushed  carefully  through 
the  thicket  to  reconnoitre.  It  was  old  Merit, 
droning  out  a  psalm  tune  and  muttering  at 
intervals,  a  basket  on  his  arm,  his  wide- 
brimmed  hat  far  back  on  his  head.  He 
alighted,  and  leaving  his  horse  biting  the  grass 
passed  on  to  the  house.  Sam  asked  no  further 
proof  of  the  identity  of  the  man,  yet  he  planted 
Uncle  Joshua's  cane  directly  in  the  path  by 
which  he  would  return,  and  where  he  could  not 
help  seeing  it.  Merit  was  climbing  the  fence 
when  it  met  his  eye,  Victoria  Barry  warbling 
the  old  melody  like  a  mocking  bird  in  sorrow. 


"  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE:'  115 

"  Oh  Lawd  of  mussy ! "  dropping  on  the 
other  side  and  seizing  his  horse  by  the  bridle, 
pulling  him  after  him  down  the  road.  "  I 
wondahs  if  I'se  a  dead  niggah  ?  Wondahs  if 
I'se  gwine  to  wake  up  outen  dis  yeah?  I 
wish  Meriky  had  seen  dat  cane  grinnin'  right 
up  to  de  sky,  and  Uncle  Joswer's  face  a  blowin' 
out  on  it  like  a  sunflowah." 

Drawing  up  by  the  roadside  at  last,  to 
mount  the  poor  beast,  he  discovered  that  he 
had  left  his  basket  by  the  fence,  a  treasure  of 
America's  it  would  never  do  to  return  with 
out.  He  waited  in  the  blazing  sun  until  he 
could  retrace  his  steps  in  the  protection  of 
some  one,  falling  close  into  the  rear  of  a 
farmer's  wagon. 

There  was  the  basket,  but  the  cane  and  the 
mocking  bird  were  gone.  What  wonder  that 
his  cogitations  were  far  from  cheerful,  and  that 
many  of  the  mullein  stalks  bordering  his  way 
seemed  to  be  undergoing  marvellous  transfor 
mations  into  walking  sticks.  Marjory  alone 
would  listen  to  his  story.  She  feared  old 
Merit  was  getting  into  a  bad  way. 

Had  he  seen  no  one  at  the  Hermitage  but 
a  servant  ? 


Il6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Seed  no  one,  Miss  Margie,"  rolling  his 
eyes  and  uplifting  both  hands  palm  outward. 

"  De  next  time  yo'  wants  anyting  ober  dere, 
jes*  send  Meriky.  I'd  like  her  to  see  and 
heah  wot  I  did  dis  mawnin'." 

Sam  Breckinridge  scarcely  smiled,  and 
Cousin  Vic,  who  was  watching  him  rather  than 
old  Merit,  as  well  as  her  near-sighted  vision 
would  permit,  saw  that  the  episode  affected 
him  painfully.  He  had  in  fact  been  strongly 
moved  to  reveal  himself  to  the  old  man,  and 
his  first  exclamation  was  regret  that  he  had 
not  done  so. 

"  Better  wait  until  you  can  give  him  his  free 
dom,"  said  Cousin  Vic. 

They  were  walking  slowly  back  to  the  house. 
Cousin  Beth  was  calling  to  them  from  the 
porch,  where  she  stood  holding  up  a  letter  in 
each  hand,  interrupting  their  discussion  of  a 
subject  Sam  Breckinridge  was  plainly  indis 
posed  to  discuss. 

"  Make  haste  and  hear  the  news  ! "  Cousin 
Beth  was  calling  out. 

They  sank  down  in  the  piazza  chairs  with 
listless  expectancy. 

The  doctor  was  scanning  his  newspapers,  a 


11  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE. "  117 

diversion  plainly  incidental  to  the  more  mo 
mentous  matter  of  discussing  the  contents  of 
the  many  closely  written  sheets  in  Cousin 
Beth's  hand. 

"  We  must  talk  it  over  together,"  she  said 
cheerily.  "  The  madame  is  coming,  and," 
looking  with  a  betrayal  of  uneasiness  toward 
Sam,  "and  Letitia  Barkenstone." 

"  Epochs  focalize,"  growled  Cousin  Vic. 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  Sam,  his  head  bowed 
upon  Uncle  Joshua's  cane.  "The  swirl 
swirleth.  Read  your  letters." 

"  The  madame's  letters  are  a  kind  of  journal," 
said  Cousin  Beth,  slipping  the  sheets  over  for 
selection,  "  and  in  what  she  writes  from  New 
port  several  weeks  ago,  I  see  that  her  English 
friends  have  become  dissatisfied  with  Saratoga, 
because  of  a  tiresome  professor  and  his  pedantic 
wife  who  will  talk  of  nothing  but  the  fanaticism 
and  prophecies  and  types  and  anti-types.  The 
professor  was  a  great  annoyance  to  Dan  in 
many  ways,  insisting  that  the  Tractarian  move 
ment  is  a  question  of  aesthetics  mainly — the 
English  romanticism  of  the  nineteenth  century." 

"How  could  he?"  said  Cousin  Vic,  with 
mock  concern. 


1 1 8  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"  And  he  was  forever  driving  Dan  into  an 
argument,  holding  that  Dan,  as  a  possible  can 
didate  for  the  priesthood,  must  be  ready  to 
defend  not  only  every  assailable  point  in  his 
creed,  but  to  state  wherein  formidable  heresies 
differ  from  the  true  faith  ;  and  so  they  made 
off  to  the  mountains.  And  now  I  will  read 
from  the  madame's  letter." 

"  '  Who  should  ride  in  the  same  stage  with 
us  for  some  twenty  miles  but  Letitia  Barken- 
stone.  She  has  changed  but  little,  is  beautiful 
as  ever,  and  her  conversational  powers  more 
remarkable.  Lord  L was  completely  car 
ried  away  with  her.  He  considers  her  the 
most  original  type  of  American  character  he 
has  seen  in  the  States.  When  she  learned  who 
he  was  she  whipped  out  her  Bible  and  began 
such  a  discourse  as  I  never  heard  about  beasts, 
and  horns,  and  pagan  Rome,  and  papal  Rome, 
and  the  churches  generally — which  she  calls 
Babylon.  She  said  that  "  the  English  Church 
was  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  mother  of  har 
lots."  Only  think  of  it !  I  was  half  vexed 
with  Dan  for  reading  Martin  Chuzzlewit 
through  it  all,  and  never  hearing  a  word.  She 
said  she  was  proclaiming  "  the  glad  tidings  " 


"  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE."  119 

throughout  the  land,  and  should  preach  every 
day  and  night,  until  time  should  be  no  longer. 
What  if  it  should  be  true  after  all,  dear  Cousin 
Beth  ?  At  times  I  am  paralyzed  with  terror  ? ' ' 

"  Then  Dan  writes  me :  '  Wherever  we  go 
we  are  fated  to  hear  this  subject  discussed. 
Some  one  is  sure  to  give  her  a  tract  or  to  call 
her  attention  to  some  freak  of  nature.  Lord 

L ,  who  has  been  our  constant  companion, 

has  begun  writing  a  series  of  papers  on  the 
history  of  the  Millenarian  doctrine  for  one  of 
the  English  reviews.  He  attends  the  meetings 
of  Miller's  followers,  talks  with  their  preachers, 
and  finds  a  world  of  interest  in  what  is  the 
cause  of  real  trouble  to  me  on  poor  mother's 
account.  If  she  were  with  you,  Cousin  Beth, 
I  know  she  would  cease  to  think  of  it  in  the 
way  she  does,  for  you  have  such  sensible  ideas 
upon  those  subjects,  and  she  is  so  powerfully 
influenced  by  you.'  " 

"  Of  course  she  will  have  to  come,"  sighed 
Cousin  Vic,  "  nevertheless — " 

"Will  she  bring  her  gay  party  with  her?" 
asked  Sam. 

"  The  doctor  will  write  her  this  afternoon  to 
come  at  once,  with  or  without  her  party,  just  as 


120  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

she  thinks  best.  Nor  is  he  at  all  disturbed  at 
the  possibility  of  Letitia  Barkenstone  coming," 
and  she  began  telling  the  doctor  upon  her  fin 
gers  what  they  were  talking  of,  for  he  had 
thrown  aside  his  paper  and  was  restlessly  walk 
ing  up  and  down  the  porch. 

"  We'll  make  sensible  women  of  them  both," 
broke  in  Dr.  Wardell,  rubbing  his  dumpy  little 
hands  together  in  a  most  self-satisfied  way. 
"  When  the  madame  sees  that  Cousin  Letitia's 
faith  won't  admit  of  her  signing  everything 
over  to  Sam  here,  and  giving  him  full  possession 
next  year,  she'll  see  how  much  there  is  in  this 
Miller  nonsense  after  all.  Sam,"  laying  his 
hand  on  Sam's  shoulder,  but  Sam  did  not  raise 
his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  be  making  a  kind  of  di 
vining  rod  of  Uncle  Joshua's  cane,  "  how  about 
the  old  darkie?  We  missed  seeing  him,  Cousin 
Beth  and  I.  Is  he  your  man,  old  Uncle 
Merit?" 

"  He  is  my  old  Uncle  Merit,"  bringing  the 
cane  down  with  a  thud. 

"Good!  What  a  hand  full  of  trumps!  It 
beats  all,  his  turning  up  with  Letitia  Barken 
stone  !  She  writes  that  she  is  coming  to  these 
parts  to  attend  a  camp  meeting,  and  she  hopes 


"  EPOCHS  FOCALIZE. "  121 

to  find  us,  so  as  to  give  us  the  Midnight  Cry  if 
we  have  not  been  supplied  already.  Ha !  ha  ! 
Now,  Sam,"  extending  his  snuffbox,  "you  must 
write  to  her  this  blessed  day.  Tell  her  you  are 
here  with  us,  and  if  she  comes,  as  we  hope  she 
will,  as  we  sincerely  hope  she  will,  why  she  must 
suppress  that  Midnight  Cry,  for  I  shall  not  con 
sent  to  the  madame  hearing  one  word  of  it,  not 
one  word." 

"  Had  you  not  better  prevent  her  coming 
here  at  all  ?  " 

"  No,  my  boy,  no.  I  want  to  see  her,  have 
been  wanting  to  see  her  for  years.  Tell  her  to 
come,  tell  her  so  for  me,  and  to-morrow  we'll  all 
drive  over  to  Miss  Ottoway's  and  see  the  run 
aways.  The  sooner  you  have  an  understand 
ing  with  Miss  Ottoway  the  better.  Let  her 
know  just  how  things  are :  that  you  mean  to 
give  those  blacks  their  freedom,  and  that  there 
is  no  danger  of  their  being  sent  back  into  slav 
ery.  Of  course  you'll  say  nothing  about  our  ex 
traordinary  discovery  to  Cousin  Letitia ;  but 
before  she  gets  here,  you  want  to  learn  from 
old  Merit  the  full  particulars  of  his  escape,  her 
part  in  it  especially.  I  don't  see  why  she  won't 
have  an  exceptional  opportunity  for  really 


122  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

emancipating  two  slaves  as  well  as  testify  how 
much  there  is  in  all  this  talk  of  believing  that 
the  world  is  to  burn  up  this  fall.  Hey,  Sam  ?  " 

Sam  wrote  the  letter,  not  a  dozen  lines  in  all, 
and  gave  it  to  Cousin  Vic  to  read. 

"That's  just  the  letter,  Sam,  a  kind  of  unful 
filled  prophecy.  The  interpretation  depends 
on  the  interpreter."  And  feigning  an  exultant 
rapture,  she  sang  the  refrain  of  a  hymn  familiar  in 
those  days. 

"  In  the  morning,  resurrection  morning, 
We'll  all  rise  together  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AN     OLD     MASTER. 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  Phil  was  work 
ing  hard  in  the  hay-field  within  sight  and  call 
of  the  open  window  where  Marjory  sat  almost 
lost  in  refashioning  an  old  lace  shoulder  cape  of 
her  Aunt  Prissy's,  for  since  that  visit  to  the 
Hermitage  she  had  thought  not  a  little  of  her 
personal  adorning,  had  tried  making  a  coil  of 
her  boyish  ringlets,  and  had  studied  the  effect 
of  a  trailing  gown  like  Miss  Culbertson's.  For 
she  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  belief  that  the 
gate  of  her  seclusion  was  swinging  wide,  and 
that  in  the  new  world  to  which  she  was  going, 
ribbons  and  laces  and  pretty  gowns  would  be 
in  order.  She  could  hear  Phil  sharply  repri 
manding  Merit  occasionally ;  for  the  old  man 
was  very  "  heavy  handed"  with  his  work  since 
taking  Poll-Betsey  to  her  new  keeper,  and  had 
he  been  mowing  a  miraculous  crop  of  hickory 
canes  that  afternoon  had  scarcely  made  slower 


124  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

progress.  What  with  Marjory's  interference  in 
his  behalf,  and  her  telling  over  and  over  a 
simple  version  of  the  story  of  Sir  Nevandeless 
to  her  mother,  in  whose  chamber  she  was  sit 
ting,  the  dreamy  revery  she  was  disposed  to  in 
dulge  in  was  disconnected  and  tantalizing. 

"  Tell  me  again,  dear,"  would  come  feebly 
from  the  pillow,  dissipating  the  creations  of  her 
fancy  ;  and  then  Marjory  would  tell  the  simple 
story  again,  the  heavy  eyelids  falling  with  her 
soothing  voice.  Hitherto  Marjory  had  sung 
snatches  of  songs  when  sitting  beside  her,  or 
let  her  imagination  furnish  the  daily  entertain 
ment  the  purposeless  broken  will  had  somehow 
established  as  a  household  rule.  The  prolong 
ing  of  that  drowsy  interest  in  song  or  story  had 
been  very  slow,  but  it  had  attained  a  choice  in 
the  subjects  presented ;  and  Marjory  had 
noticed  that  day,  the  indifference  to  every 
thing  but  Sir  Victor,  inevitably  as  her  mother 
had  fallen  asleep  at  the  beginning  of  the  story. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  and  America  had  gone  to 
the  meadow,  and  Marjory  was  wishing  she 
might  join  them  at  tossing  the  hay — such  merry 
haymakers  they  were,  saving  poor  Merit,  whose 
doleful  psalmody  told  her  at  what  rate  he  was 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  125 

swinging  his  scythe.  Then  she  wandered  away 
from  them  all  through  the  gate  so  lately  operved, 
and  was  thinking  what  life  in  the  great  world 
would  be  ;  and  if  their  Hermitage  neighbors 
would  forget  her  and  never  make  the  promised 
visit ;  and  if  Phil  would  ever  be  anything  but 
the  homely-clad  farmer  he  was ;  if  he  could 
ever  be  something  more  like  Sir  Victor.  Then 
she  was  suddenly  aware  of  strange  voices 
beneath  her  window,  and  the  sound  of  horses' 
feet  and  wheels,  and  there  was  the  party  from 
the  Hermitage,  Sir  Victor  helping  the  ladies  to 
alight  and  lifting  his  hat  as  he  looked  up  to  her 
window,  while  Aunt  Prissy  hastened  from  the 
meadow  in  her  broad  hat  to  receive  them,  fol 
lowed  by  coatless  Phil. 

Before  Marjory  entered  the  parlor,  for  Amer 
ica  had  detained  her,  insisting  on  her  deciding 
if  the  black  cake  should  be  cut  and  passed 
with  wine,  the  introductions  were  over,  and 
Priscilla  Ottoway  and  Phil  had  recovered  from 
their-  surprise  at  hearing  the  name  of  Samuel 
Breckinridge,  and  had  taken  the  hand  of "  Mars 
Sam,"  who  assured  them  that  the  safety  of  the 
fugitives  was  not  jeopardized  by  his  discovery 
of  them  ;  that  he  would  devise  some  way  with 


126  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

Miss  Ottoway's  co-operation  for  adjusting  the 
matter  without  discord,  etc.,  etc.  And  she, 
looking  into  his  eyes,  had  believed  him.  He 
had  apologized  most  gracefully  for  concealing 
his  name  from  Miss  Burke,  but  they  could 
understand,  he  believed,  why  he  had  done  so  ; 
anci  would  Miss  Ottoway  permit  his  conveying 
the  information  of  his  true  name  to  Miss  Burke 
himself,  and  in  his  own  way?  She  saw  no  rea 
son  for  objecting,  but  Phil,  who  had  growled 
something  about  "  no  union  with  slaveholders" 
and  his  readiness  to  die  for  the  liberty  of  their 
servants,  withdrew  without  ceremony  and  went 
back  to  the  hay-field. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  entertaining  them  by 
telling  how  well  they  all  knew  "  Mars  Sam," 
and  the  pranks  of  his  boyhood,  when  Marjory 
slipped  quietly  into  the  room  and  had  exchanged 
her  simple  greetings  with  the  ladies  before  Sir 
Victor,  seemingly  absorbed  in  a  study  of  one 
of  the  old  portraits,  was  aware  of  her  entrance. 
She  stood  with  demure  expectancy  waiting  for 
him  to  see  her,  when,  as  if  suddenly  aware  of 
her  presence,  he  extended  his  hand  toward  her 
with  a  smile  and  led  her  to  the  porch  where 
one  of  the  dogs  was  lying,  keeping  a  watchful 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  127 

eye,  however,  upon  the  company  inside.  He 
thanked  her  for  all  of  the  Hermitage  household 
for  the  wonderful  crow  they  had  been  amusing 
themselves  with  that  morning,  and  which  they 
had  decided  to  return  with  a  petition  for  his 
full  pardon  for  past  crimes,  so  homesick  he  was, 
when  three  or  four  of  the  dogs  came  chasing 
each  other  around  the  house,  and  at  a  whistle 
from  Phil  went  yelping  to  him  in  the  meadow. 

"  Those  dogs  are  old  friends  of  mine — I  mean 
their  breed,"  said  Sam  Breckinridge  watching 
her.  He  had  observed  her  confusion  when  she 
would  have  addressed  him  by  name,  and  her 
omitting  to  call  him  Sir  Victor  as  on  their 
first  meeting.  "  I  believe  I  can  give  you  the 
names  of  those  dogs,  that  is,  the  names  your 
old  black  man  has  chosen  for  them.  There 
must  be  a  Dash  among  them  ;  Fan,  and  only 
for  the  crow,  there  had  been  Poll-Betsey.  Did 
he  never  name  anything  Uncle  Joshua  or" — 
they  were  looking  each  other  straight  in  the 
eye,  her  own  dilating,  the  color  mounting  to  her 
very  forehead — "  or  Mars  Sam  ?  " 

"  Are  you  Mars  Sam  ?  "  under  her  breath, 
with  long  pauses  between  each  word,  drawing 
nearer,  even  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 


128  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  I  am  Mars  Sam,"  grasping  her  hand  and 
holding  it  fast.  "  Never  mind  telling  them, 
they  all  know  it  already,"  for  Marjory  would 
have  gone  to  Aunt  Prissy  with  the  news ;  "  all 
but  those  most  interested  in  me,  old  Merit  and 
America." 

"  Oh  !  Oh  !  "  she  was  gasping,  suddenly  con 
scious  of  what  the  consequences  of  this  meeting 
might  be  to  them,  "  and  they  are  your 
slaves — " 

There  was  a  deafening  crash  in  the  parlor. 
America  had  dropped  her  tray  laden  with  wine 
glasses  and  decanters,  and  stood  motionless 
above  the  wreck  gazing  at  Sam  Breckinridge 
with  a  stony,  clairvoyant  stare,  her  hands 
clinched,  her  nostrils  dilating,  the  tiger  gather 
ing  to  spring.  Merit,  who  was  close  behind 
her  when  the  catastrophe  came,  and  who  had 
recognized  his  old  master,  was  advancing  by 
physical  contortions,  and  with  convulsive  gri 
maces,  nearer  and  nearer  the  porch,  where  Mars 
Sam,  still  holding  Marjory's  hand,  was  as  calm 
as  could  be  expected. 

"  Yes,  old  uncle,  I'se  Mars  Sam,"  his  voice 
breaking  perceptibly  as  he  bowed  his  head  on 
the  old  man's  shoulder  for  a  moment,  and  then 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  129 

quieted  the  tumultuous  outburst  of  the  fugitive 
as  best  he  could.  "  I  knew  I  should  find  you 
some  day  ;  that  my  best  friend  in  all  the  world 
would  be  given  me  again.  Don't  be  afraid  of 
me,  mammy,"  advancing  to  the  glowering 
negress.  "  I  shall  do  you  no  harm.  Trust 
Master  Sam  and  Miss  Ottoway  for  that." 

The  words  had  their  effect,  but  she  was  still 
an  incarnation  of  defiance  and  resolve.  She 
began  picking  up  the  debris  mechanically,  the 
fumes  of  the  Burgundy  filling  the  room. 

"  I  know'd  yer  was  comin',"  Merit  was  blub 
bering,  going  round  and  round  him  like  an 
overjoyed  spaniel.  "  De  Lawd  's  been  a  tellin' 
me  so  moah  dan  a  yeah,  an'  wukkin  mirakuls 
dat  beat  ebery  ting  Moses  eber  see.  Didn't 
Uncle  Joswer's  cane  shoot  right  up  out'er  de 
groun'  t'other  day  an'  grow,  an'  grow,  an' 
keep  on  growin'  till  it  blossumed  lilacks  an' 
poseys?  Den  I  know'd  youse  was  comin'. 
Needn't  tell  ole  Merit  de  wuld  gwine  ter 
bun  up  'foah  he'd  seen  Mars  Sam !  No  moah 
runnin'  aftah  de  Norf  Stah  for  dis  niggah ! 
Miss  Tisha  did  dat,  but  I  ain't  gwine  back  on 
Miss  Tisha,  cos,  ye  see,  she  led  me  up  to  Miss 
Prissy  heah,  and  Miss  Prissy  she's  bin  keepin' 


130        f  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

me  from  wearin'  out,  dat  she  has,  and  I'se  been 
savin'  mysef  for  Mars   Sam.     No  wearin'    out 
dis  niggah  !     I'se  wuth  moah  dan  I  was  thirty 
yeahs  ago,  and  Meriky  heah — " 
"  Shet  up  dah  'bout  Meriky." 
"  Miss  Tisha's  comin'  too." 
"  Shet  up  dah  'bout  Miss  Tisha." 
"Yes,  Merit,  you  must  keep  clear  of   Miss 
Letitia,"    following    him    in    his   retreat    from 
America's  discipline.     "  You  are  not  to  let  her 
know  you  are  here,  mind  that,"  with  a  marked 
flavor  of  the  old  authority,  and  Merit  bobbed 
his  head  with  becoming  deference.     "  Unless 
you  keep  this  matter  as   secret  as  possible,  I 
may  not   succeed  in   emancipating  you,   as   I 
mean  to  do." 

The  old  man  started  at  the  words.  "  Nev- 
vah  make  a  free  niggah  of  me,  Mars  Sam. 
Don'  ye  do  dat,  an'  I'se  waitin'  and  prayin' 
for  ye  all  dese  yeahs.  I'm  a  Buckinridge  nig 
gah,  no  free  trash  fur  me,  and  I'se  gwine  to 
keep  by  Mars  Sam." 

America's  conclusions  were  very  different. 
Priscilla  Ottoway  and  MissCulbertson  did  their 
best  at  pouring  the  oil  of  consolation  upon 
the  troubled  waters  of  her  suspicion,  but  they 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  131 

did  not  succeed  in  removing  the  conviction 
that  she  and  Merit  were  in  imminent  peril  of 
going  back  to  Kentucky  in  chains. 

"  I'se  no  sech  fool  as  ole  Merit  dar.  I  neb- 
ber  forgits  dem  chillen,  one  sol'  to  Or'lens, 
nudder  down  ribber's  no  tellin'  whar  ;  ye  don't 
heah  me  talkin'  lub  to  dem  Buckinridges.  I 
knows  'em  from  cubs  to  bars,  an'  Mars  Sam 
won't  bar  crossin'.  He's  Buckinridge,  tooth 
an'  nail.  Don'  I  know  'em?  High  priced 
niggahs  won't  slip  out  of  his  paws  for 

nothin' Sink  I'se  gwine  ter  let  Miss  Prissy 

pay  down  de  money?  Don'  talk  'bout  delaw. 
Wot's  de  law  to  us  brack  folks  ?  De  law  sol' 
my  chillen.  I'se  had  all  I  wants  of  de  law,  an' 
de  Buckinridges.  Merit  allers  was  a  fool  'bout 
Mars  Sam.  He'd  foller  him  off  to-morrer,  an' 
Miss  Prissy  an'  Mars  Phil  an'  Miss  Annie  an' 
Miss  Margie  couldn't  hoi*  'im.  I'll  hoi'  'im," 
with  increasing  ferocity.  "  Nobody's  gwine 
ter  buy  dat  ole  man  but  me.  I'se  gwine  ter 
own  him  mysef.  I'se  got  money  nuff  to  start 
wid  :  I  kin  earn  it  in  time.  I'll  borrer  of  Mars 
Phil." 

"  Well,  mammy,"  said  Sam  soothingly,  "  you 
shall  have  him  cheap." 


132  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

He  had  better  have  kept  silent. 

"I  don1  want  him  cheap.  I  won't  hab  any 
cheap  niggahs  roun'  heah.  Merit  is  wuth  fif 
teen  hundred  dollahs." 

In  proof  of  which  the  old  man  must  show 
his  teeth  to  prove  his  sound  physical  condition. 
Must  bend  his  poor  stiff  knees  to  show  that 
the  rheumatism  had  left  him  with  youthful 
elasticity.  Her  praise  of  Merit  was  unlimited. 
In  fact  she  doubted  if  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
was  enough  for  so  valuable  a  farm  hand  and 
house  servant.  She  could  raise  the  money. 
Merit  and  she  had  a  nest  egg  in  the  bank. 
They  had  speculated  in  calves  and  fox  hound 
puppies,  and  some  other  specialties  for 
years. 

"We'll  see  whose  massa  roun'  heah  when 
I'se  bought  Merit,  and  'foah  Miss  Prissy  shall 
buy  me,  I'll — "  shutting  her  lips  close,  and  leav 
ing  the  threat  unexpressed. 

America  had  not  been  the  property  of  Samuel 
Breckinridge  for  several  years  before  her  escape. 
She  had  been  sold  to  a  neighboring  plantation 
just  before  his  leaving  the  country.  His  inten 
tion,  now  that  the  fugitives  were  discovered, 
was  to  write  to  her  owner,  an  old  friend,  and 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  133 

secure  the  promise  of  her  freedom  for  a  reason 
able  sum.  As  Sam  Breckinridge  had  not  a 
dollar  of  his  own,  the  success  of  the  scheme 
depended  upon  the  plans  he  was  discussing  with 
Cousin  Vic. 

The  exciting  episode  of  the  visit  had  gradu 
ally  merged  into  pleasant  conversation  of  com 
monplace  matters,  and  wine  and  cake  had  been 
served  without  disaster,  when  the  beauty  of  the 
grounds  naturally  led  to  a  stroll  through  the 
meadow  and  orchard.  Sam  and  Merit  rambled 
apart  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
campground,  while  Victoria  Barry  and  Marjory, 
who  had  left  Cousin  Beth  and  Miss  Ottoway 
sitting  upon  the  porch,  made  the  circuit  of  the 
flower  beds,  and  then,  at  Marjory's  suggestion, 
followed  the  narrow  pathway  through  the  high 
grass,  to  the  white  paling  around  John  Wilson's 
grave,  Marjory  laughing  merrily  at  the  story  of 
the  mocking  bird  and  the  explanation  of  what 
had  been  counted  one  of  old  Merit's  pardonable 
deviations  from  exact  truth. 

An  advanced  corps  of  "  the  brethren "  had 
been  found  by  Sam  Breckinridge  at  work  on  the 
camp  ground,  making  ready  for  the  arrival  of 
the  big  tent.  They  were  not  so  preoccupied  as 


134  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

to  omit  warning  their  visitor  of  the  speedy  end 
of  his  earthly  probation.  Sam  listened  with 
reticent  amusement,  accepting  their  tracts  and 
papers  innumerable,  finally  asking  what  attrac 
tion  they  offered  a  godless  community  in  the 
way  of  eloquent  preachers. 

"  Father  Miller  will  be  here  himself  without 
doubt,  and  Elder  Himes.  Never  heard  of  Elder 
Himes  ?  Why  all  Boston  knows  what  a  power 
ful  speaker  he  is :  the  right  hand  of  Father 
Miller,  too  much  for  the  pro-slavery  hypocrites 
he  was  in  the  London  World  Convention.  But 
Sister  Letitia  Barkenstone,  the  Lord  willing, 
will  surely  be  here.  And  who  is  she  ?  It 
must  be  you  don't  read  the  papers  wherein  the 
scoffers  tell  a  dying  world  all  our  doings.  Letitia 
Barkenstone  is  the  chosen  handmaiden  of  the 
Lord,  raised  up  to  proclaim  the  glad  tidings  to 
them  who  will  not  listen  to  the  rough  Elijahs 
of  the  wilderness.  She  is  the  Paula  of  these 
last  days.  She  has  cast  her  diamonds  and  her 
silken  attire  at  the  feet  of  the  Lord's  anointed, 
to  make  glad  the  desolate  places  before  He 
comes  to  make  up  His  jewels.  She  has  sold 
her  palaces  and  her  chariots  and  given  unto  the 
treasury  of  the  Lord." 


AN  OLD  MASTER.  135 

"  Who'd  ebber  taut  dat  of  Miss  Tisha  ?  "  old 
Merit  was  muttering,  and  evidently  on  the 
verge  of  an  outburst  of  rapture.  Sam  promised 
to  attend  the  meetings,  and  leading  Merit  away 
just  as  "  the  brother"  was  unrolling  a  chart  for 
his  edification,  joined  Marjory  and  Victoria 
Barry  talking  freely  together  as  they  leaned 
on  the  white  palings  around  John  Wilson's 
grave. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THROUGH  A   GLASS  DARKLY. 

NOT  many  days  after  the  events  of  the  pre 
ceding  chapter  the  madame  and  her 
party  arrived  at  the  Hermitage,  a  party  care 
fully  selected  by  Dan  Van  Horn  as  an  antidote 
for  the  apocalyptic  visions  of  his  dear  mother, 
her  somnambulistic  mutterings  about  times, 
times,  and  dividing  of  times,  Babylon's  fall,  and 
the  cleansing  of  the  sanctuary. 

There  was  Kate  McVicar,  the  mad-cap  queen 
of  a  fashionable  circle,  Karl  Saxsby,  a  rapidly 
rising  artist,  and  Will  Primrose,  the  poet  of  the 
hour. 

"  If  you  and  Kate  McVicar,"  Dan  had  said  to 
Cousin  Beth,  "  cannot  cure  mother  of  the 
effects  of  this  delusion,  nobody  can." 

The  madame's  appearance  was  by  no  means 
indicative  of  spiritual  or  mental  disquiet.  Her 
tall,  graceful  figure  was  faultlessly  attired,  or 
had  been,  had  the  madame  been  twenty  years 


THRO  UGH  A   GLA  SS  DA  RKL  Y.  137 

younger,  requiring  less  aid  from  rouge,  hair 
dye  and  every  artifice  intended  to  reconcile  a 
fading  beauty  with  the  inexorable  ravages  of 
the  years.  She  clung  to  her  idolizing  husband 
as  if  she  were  his  petted  child,  or  as  if  they 
were  acting  a  pretty  comedy,  with  Cousin  Beth 
for  faithful  nurse.  The  apocalyptic  visions 
lost  their  terrors  in  less  than  twenty-four 
hours,  and  the  madame  was  all  absorbed  in 
Karl  Saxsby's  proposed  sketch  book  of  the 
Genesee  Valley,  and  Will  Primrose's  madrigals. 

She  would  be  a  toiler  with  the  rest.  She 
would  write  a  simple  story  for  the  poor  chil 
dren  of  her  mission  school.  What  an  eventful 
summer  it  would  be  after  all.  "  Poor  Sam 
Breckinridge,"  she  sighed,  wishing  she  might 
see  him  restored  to  the  favor  of  Letitia  Barken- 
stone,  "and  he  must  be;  but  she  should  never 
consent,  never,  to  Letitia  Barkenstone's  coming 
to  them  as  a  guest  from  that  camp  meeting. 
She  would  arrange  matters  for  Sam,  somehow, 
but  to  burden  her  family  life  with  the  eccentrici 
ties  of  a  Millerite  preacher  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion." 

The  Genesee  Valley  was  far  from  being  the 
social  Sahara  she  had  imagined.  Among  its 


138  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

extensive  landowners  were  many  old  Maryland 
families  living  in  something  akin  to  baronial 
style,  while  not  a  few  gentlemen  of  New  York 
and  Philadelphia  had  country  seats  thereabout. 
In  less  than  a  fortnight  the  Hermitage  had 
ceased  to  be  a  hermitage  in  any  sense,  and  the 
round  of  visits  and  excursions  so  absorbed  the 
time  of  all  that  Marjory  had  at  last  wearily 
reached  the  belief  that  nothing  would  come  of 
her  new  acquaintance  after  all.  The  day  she  had 
called  at  the  Hermitage  with  her  aunt,  there  had 
been  no  one  at  home  to  receive  them,  and  after 
that  disappointment  Marjory  wearied  of  expect 
ing  to  see  more  of  her  whilom  friends.  Her 
musings  when  day  after  day  closed,  after  its 
undeviating  routine  of  commonplace,  were 
morbid,  even  resentful.  Old  Merit,  for  he  did 
not  tell  her  of  several  secret  meetings  with  his 
old  master,  she  thought  forgotten  with  them 
all. 

The  camp  meeting  had  been  an  additional 
disappointment.  Such  a  thing  as  an  ascension 
robe  was  not  to  be  seen,  the  brethren  denied 
that  one  had  ever  been  owned  by  a  sane  be 
liever,  and  the  preaching  so  far  had  been  expo 
sition  of  prophecy  by  calm  speakers,  that  had 


THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKLY.  139 

failed  to  attract  a  crowd.  The  meetings  were 
a  prelude  only,  she  was  told,  to  what  might  be 
expected  when  Letitia  Barkenstone  should 
arrive,  she  having  been  delayed  by  the  great 
demands  upon  her  in  Boston  and  New  York. 
Perhaps  old  America  was  right  after  all. 

"  If  dere's  anythin'  in  all  dis'  yeah  it's  de 
debbil,  an'  de  debbil  is  gwine  to  let  us  'lone 
if  we  stop  foolishin'  with  folks  as  hasn't 
nuffin'  to  do  but  preach  an'  bress  de  Lawd.  I 
want  such  folks  to  keep  off'n  dis  groun'.  Dar's 
Miss  Annie  dar,  an'  her  preachah,  an'  didn't 
dat  howlin'  preachah  de  odder  night  set  all  dis 
trubble  gwine  'bout  Mars  Sam  and  MissTisha? 
Dey's  no  count.  I'se  no  use  for  sech  trash,  an' 
if  you  don't  go  runnin'  affer  dem,  an'  coaxin* 
'em  like  old  Merit  dar,  ye'll  nebber  see  'em 
agen.  What  good's  Miss  Tisha  an'  Mars  Sam 
bin  to  us  since  we  kum  heah  ?  Hab  we  needed 
'em  roun'?  I'se  tells  ye,  Miss  Margie,  it's  all 
de  debbil,  an'  if  yes  won't  hab  nuffin'  to  do 
wid  de  debbil  he'll  clar  out  mighty  quick." 

Marjory,  half  converted  to  America's  teaching, 
tried  to  forget  what  gave  her  pleasure  no  longer. 
Another  gate,  out  into  the  world  far  away  from 
the  old  house  in  the  valley,  seemed  opening, 


140  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

and  when  once  beyond  the  seclusion  growing 
more  and  more  like  a  prison  house,  would  she 
ever  be  contented  with  such  a  quiet  life  again  ? 
Aunt  Prissy  had  been  inclined  to  place  her  in 
one  of  the  Friends'  Boarding  Schools  in  the 
suburbs  of  Philadelphia,  but  she  was  averse  to 
anything  so  tranquillizing,  so  monotonously 
drab. 

She  sat  by  the  open  window  of  her  mother's 
chamber,  just  as  she  had  sat  every  afternoon 
for  a  fortnight,  and  might  be  sitting,  she  some 
times  thought,  for  years  to  come,  if  circum 
stances  did  not  break  the  monotony  of  her  life. 
Looking  off  across  the  meadows,  at  the  white 
paling  beyond  the  wheat,  she  re-lived  her  visit 
to  the  Hermitage,  and  all  that  had  happened. 
Was  it  years  ago  since  Mars  Sam  became  a 
reality  in  her  uneventful  life  ?  How  vividly 
she  recalled  every  word,  look,  and  inflection 
of  his  mellow,  low  keyed  voice.  Then  she 
remembered — how  strange  she  had  forgotten 
it  until  that  moment — the  little  book  he  had 
dropped  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  wagon,  one 
of  those  that  had  been  given  him  at  the  camp 
ground.  She  had  laid  it  carefully  away,  hidden 
it  in  fact.  Now  was  the  time  to  read  it — "  The 


THRO  UGH  A  GLA  SS  DARKL  Y.  141 

Dream  of  Father  Miller" — it  would  serve  as  a 
lullaby  for  her  mother's  heavy  lidded  eyes.  She 
soon  forgot  herself  and  her  surroundings  in  the 
old  man's  description  of  the  day  of  doom.  Her 
mother's  soft  breathing  alone  broke  the  silence 
in  which  she  read.  She  beheld  a  globe  reeling 
to  destruction,  the  stars  hurled  from  the 
heavens,  the  children  of  men  crying  in  vain  unto 
the  Judge,  descending,  attended  by  a  retinue  of 
angels  and  archangels.  The  graves  gave  up 
their  dead,  the  lightning  shrivelled  the  fair 
bosom  of  the  earth,  within  which  terrified 
ghosts  so  long  had  slept  for  this  horrible  awak 
ing.  In  what  an  awful  silence  she  read  on,  a 
paralysis  of  fear  creeping  over  her,  a  conviction 
that  the  homely  writer  was  a  true  seer,  and  that 
his  fearful  predictions  were  speedily  to  come  to 
pass.  How  horrible  to  be  linked  to  a  world 
that  might  not  escape  such  a  fate  !  What  a 
merciless  trap  for  humanity,  what  an  inexorable 
grasp  was  this  hand  of  the  Lord,  what  a  relent 
less  monster  the  Maker  of  the  Universe !  She 
looked  out  over  the  wide  landscape,  so  fair  a 
moment  before,  to  behold  it  horribly  trans 
formed.  The  shadow  of  its  impending  doom 
lay  black  upon  it.  It  shrivelled  with  flame,  it 


142  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

melted  with  fervent  heat.  The  great  elms  fell 
crackling  into  yawning  chasms,  the  birds 
dropped  dead,  the  river  bed  was  molten  fire. 
"  Phil  ! "  she  called  out  shrilly,  the  cry  of  a 
frightened  child. 

A  merry  laugh  came  up  from  beneath  the 
window,  a  chorus  of  happy  voices.  Bewildered 
and  dumb  she  stood  gazing  straight  into  the 
face  of  Sam  Breckinridge.  Two  carriages  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  all  looked  up  at  her,  and 
smiled.  Would  they,  could  they,  be  so  happy, 
passed  through  her  perturbed  mind  as  she 
hastened  down,  if  they  knew  what  the  end  of  it 
all  was  to  be  ?  How  strange  that  the  world 
should  go  on  just  the  same  as  if  it  were  not 
nearing  the  last  day.  Her  seriousness  wore  off 
gradually,  however,  and  the  visit  which  Mrs. 
Wardell  had  intended  should  be  one  of  cere 
mony  was  more  like  a  rural  frolic,  in  which 
even  Priscilla  Ottoway  took  part ;  for  after  tea 
had  been  passed,  as  they  sat  on  the  lawn, 
America  resplendent  in  her  hoop  earrings  and 
brightest  head  gear,  Marjory  must  lead  them 
over  the  quaint  old  house,  even  to  the  ridge 
pole  of  the  roof,  and  show  them  the  turret  of 
the  Hermitage  peeping  through  the  trees.  Will 


THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKLY.  143 

Primrose  saw  no  end  of  madrigals,  and  Karl 
Saxsby  declared  the  plan  for  his  sketch  book 
essentially  changed.  Then  Victoria  Barry 
played  a  Virginia  reel  on  the  jangling  old 
piano,  and  Kate  McVicar  arranged  the  dancers 
on  the  wide  lawn,  insisting  that  old  Merit  and 
America  should  do  their  part. 

"  Dat  Mars  Sam  is  jes'  as  peart  as  ebber  he 
was,"  she  heard  Merit  half  soliloquizing  as  she 
passed  down  the  line  with  her  partner.  If  the 
dream  came  back  to  her,  as  it  dolorously  did 
at  times  for  all  her  gaiety,  it  was  with  a  sense  of 
thankfulness  that  something  was  helping  her  to 
forget  it  all.  One  would  have  thought  Phil  had 
been  reading  it,  so  solemn  he  looked  in  his  best 
coat,  which,  by  the  way,  Marjory  discovered 
that  afternoon  was  quite  out  of  fashion,  and 
dreadfully  short  in  the  sleeves.  She  believed 
she  liked  him  better  in  his  workaday  dress. 
She  would  never  make  him  unhappy  again  by 
forcing  him  into  what  he  never  wore  of  his  own 
free  will,  but  he  need  not  look  so  sullen. 
That  did  not  improve  his  appearance. 

Mrs.  Wardell's  desire  that  Karl  Saxsby 
should  make  certain  sketches  of  the  old  house 
and  its  surroundings,  to  be  accompanied  in 


144  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

time  by  madrigals  by  Will  Primrose,  prolonged 
the  stay  of  the  party  far  beyond  her  expectation. 
They  were  watching  the  sun  setting,  Marjory  in 
the  window  above  them,  that  of  her  mother's 
room,  whither  she  had  gone  lest  she  should  be 
missed  by  the  invalid,  when  Phil,  who  had  been 
sitting  with  her,  found  it  necessary  to  look  after 
his  farm  hands  in  a  distant  field.  She  sat  lean 
ing  upon  the  window  ledge,  her  bright  girlish 
face  against  the  background  of  her  crimson 
curtain,  the  picture  framed  by  the  gnarled 
boughs  of  the  old  oak,  on  the  lower  branches 
of  which  Jocko  was  stepping  about  with  ruffled 
plumage,  haughtily  disdaining  to  exhibit  his 
familiarity  with  Shakespeare,  by  croaking 
querulously  at  Victoria  Barry's  efforts  to  call 
him  out. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  and  Elizabeth  Culbertson 
were  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  They  had 
been  speaking  of  Letitia  Barkenstone,  and  the 
influence  of  the  prevailing  fanaticism,  the  stress 
laid  upon  astronomical  phenomena  of  any  kind 
by  the  public  prints,  a  few  of  the  leading 
journals  giving  a  special  column  to  "  Signs  and 
Wonders  in  the  Heavens." 

"  Millerism  is  a  spiritual  fermentation,"  Miss 


THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKLY.  145 

Culbertson  was  saying,  "  and  spiritual  fermen 
tation,  I  believe,"  smiling  at  the  amused 
incredulity  plainly  manifested  in  the  face  of 
her  listener,  "  takes  place  in  many  ways,  in  the 
heavens  as  well  as  upon  the  earth,  false  inter 
pretations  of  the  word,  for  the  ultimate 
purification  of  our  faith  and  our  understanding 
of  spiritual  interpretation.  Millerism  will 
result  in  a  clearer  comprehension  of  the  proph 
ecies  relating  to  the  Second  Coming." 

"  But  how  can  you  have  faith  in  a  system 
so  dependent  upon  falsities  for  its  develop 
ment?  " 

The  singing  from  the  camp  ground  burst 
out  tumultuously,  the  volume  of  voices  increas 
ing  with  the  rhythmical  roaring  wail  of  the 
chorus. 

"  I  want  a  religion  that  shall  dispel  illusions," 
continued  Priscilla  Ottaway,  "not  absorb  them ; 
that  shall  break  down  dogmatism,  not  build 
upon  it ;  that  shall  give  me  real  knowledge, 
not  evolutions  of  my  ignorance  and  mistakes." 

"  You  demand  a  revelation,"  Priscilla  Otto- 
way  alone  could  hear  Elizabeth  Culbertson's 
low  sweet  voice,  "  a  faith  born  of  something 
above  and  beyond  the  result  of  logical  connec- 


146  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

tion — something  that  does  not  depend  upon 
your  ability  to  formulate  it  in  a  syllogism." 

Kate  McVicar  was  begging  them  all  to  go 
down  to  the  camp  ground.  She  had  Miss  Culbert- 
son  by  both  hands  and  was  playfully  attempting 
to  drag  her  from  her  chair.  "  I  must  see  a  genu 
ine  camp  meeting.  Such  guys  as  the  women 
do  make  of  themselves.  Oh  we  must  go. 
Mrs.  Wardell  don't  care  a  fig  about  it.  She'll 
stay  here  with  Cousin  Vic,  who  doesn't  want  to 
go.  Come,  Dan,"  for  he  had  not  stirred  from 
the  great  bear  skin  upon  which  he  was  reclin 
ing.  "Come,  we  must  get  up  something 
mediaeval  in  the  way  of  an  ascension  robe." 

Dan  shook  his  head — a  solemn  refusal. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  with  us,"  came  up 
pleadingly  to  Marjory  from  under  her  window. 

She  had  been  listening  to  nothing  but  the 
singing,  catching  the  refrain,  heralding  in 
words  she  could  hear  distinctly,  that  impending 
day  of  doom  she  had  wished  to  forget.  His 
voice  startled  her.  She  drew  back  with  a  low 
cry. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Breckinridge,  but  I  can 
not  go.  Indeed  I  do  not  want  to  go.  I  would 
not  go  for  anything." 


THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKL  Y,  147 

He  waved  her  a  smiling  adieu,  after  a  mo 
ment's  indecision,  and  turning  abruptly  upon  his 
heel,  gravitated  with  the  rest  to  the  bear  skin 
where  Karl  Saxsby  was  exhibiting  the  sketches 
he  had  made. 

"  We  can  have  a  camp  meeting  of  our  own," 
Kate  McVicar  was  chirping,  and  she  began 
singing— 

"  I'm  going,  I'm  going,  I'm  on  my  journey  home, 
I'm  travelling  to  a  city  just  in  sight- " 

"  Well  if  it's  really  in  sight,"  broke  in  Vic 
toria  Barry,  "  we  can  see  it  here  as  well  as  from 
slivery  seats  without  backs.  We  haven't  the 
charts,  that's  a  drawback,  but  we  can  elucidate 
from  our  memories,  which  no  doubt  will  be 
more  entertaining.  Sit  down  here,  Sam," 
cushioning  the  tree  behind  him  with  a  sofa 
pillow,  "  you  are  under  my  medical  care.  I  must 
remember,  if  you  don't." 

"Old  Merit  is  right.  He  says  I'm  'jes  as 
much  of  a  pickaninny  as  ebber.'  Come,  Dan, 
let's  have  a  game  of  mumble  peg." 

"  No,  we  are  playing  camp  meeting.  Dan  is 
expected  to  preach."  There  was  a  clapping  of 
hands,  Dan  languidly  conscious  of  being  the 
centre  of  attraction. 


148  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Yes,  Dan,"  from  Sam  Breckinridge,  "  I 
want  you  to  appreciate  my  giving  up  Elder 
Stiggins  to  listen  to  the  future  Rector  of  St. 
John's  in  the  wilderness.  Where  was  it  we  left 
off  the  other  night,  or  was  it  at  breakfast  this 
morning,  when  some  petty  consideration, 
ordering  a  cork  screw  from  Rochester  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort,  prevented  the  settlement  of  a 
matter  concerning  the  whole  universe.  Where 
did  we  leave  off?"  appealing  to  Victoria  Barry. 
"  If  you  cannot  tell  them  we  must  begin  over 
again." 

"  Why  I  was  asking,  if  it  could  be  proved 
that  the  teaching  of  the  early  church  differed 
essentially  from  that  of  these  fanatics,  con 
cerning  the  doctrine  of  the  Second  Coming?" 

"  Fanaticism  was  not  born  with  William 
Miller,"  Dan  said  quietly. 

"  Verily,"  from  Victoria  Barry,  gladly  prod 
ding  him  on,  "  these  fanatics  are  true  Restora- 
tionists,  are  they  not  ?  Restoring  the  relics  of 
ancient  doctrine.  As  such  they  should  be 
hailed  as  the  benefactors  of  Christendom. 
History  tells  us,  and  by  history  I  mean  trust 
worthy  authority,  that  the  early  Christians 
lived  in  constant  expectation  of  the  return  of 


THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKL  Y.  149 

Jesus  the  Christ  ;  that  they  went  to  their  beds 
each  night  believing  He  might  come  before  the 
morning.  Every  to-morrow  was  to  them  a 
possible  last  day.  The  margin  given  by  these 
Millerites,  when  they  fix  upon  the  twenty- 
fourth  day  of  October,  the  date  given  by  their 
system  of  literal  interpretation,  this  heritage 
of  the  early  church,  is  a  pleasanter  arrange 
ment  for  the  delaying  sinner.  He  knows  just 
when  his  probation  ends.  '  Behold  I  come 
quickly,'  in  short,  meant  something  more  even 
to  the  early  church  than  to  these  fanatics.  It 
would  to  me.  I  should  find  it  more  comfortable 
to  believe  that  the  great  conflagration  would 
not  break  out  until  next  October,  rather  than 
that  we  might  never  get  back  to  the  Hermitage 
and  see  dear  Doctor  Wardell  again.  Your 
Advent  hymns  have  the  same  meaning  as  those 
sung  by  these  Millerites.  They  have  sensibly 
adopted  many  of  yours,  particularly  this  one, 
which  has  some  impressiveness  when  uplifted 
by  expectant  believers :  "  and  she  solemnly  sang, 
in  her  strong  contralto,  Kate  McVicar  taking 
up  the  soprano,  Dan's  tenor  falling  in  with 
the  melancholy  refrain, 

"  Lo  !  He  comes  with  clouds  descending." 


150  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  Cheerful,  isn't  it?  "  and  Sam  looked  up  to 
the  window  nodding  to  Marjory  who  was 
eagerly  listening. 

"  Now  tell  me,  Dan,  if  it  were  possible  to 
translate  you  and  Father  Miller  back  to  the 
dens  and  caves  of  the  early  church,  which, 
think  you,  would  be  in  the  more  perfect  fellow 
ship  with  those  looking  for  the  appearing  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ?" 

"  It's  hard  having  history  and  the  thermome 
ter  both  to  contend  with,"  sighed  Sam  Breck- 
inridge,  wiping  his  brow,  and  regarding  Dan 
with  amused  expectancy. 

"  Father  Miller  is  born  out  of  his  time," 
drawled  Karl  Saxsby  without  looking  up  from 
his  sketch  book.  "  Unless  he  can  contribute 
something  to  save  us  from  the  repulsive  realism 
of  to-day,  inspire  a  renaissance,  the  sooner  he 
'  goes  up  '  the  better.  We  are  too  common 
place  already." 

Victoria  Barry  turned  upon  him  inci 
sively. 

"  Thou  scoffer  of  the  genuine  and  the  real,  is 
not  faith  a  fact?  What  change  would  you 
inspire  in  genuine  belief?" 

"  What  is  belief?  "  squinting  his  eyelids  to  a 


THRO  UGH  A  GLA  SS  DARKL  Y.  151 

straight  line,  and  regarding  her  as  he  would  a 
vague  subject  for  his  pencil. 

"  The  affirmation  of  the  soul." 

Dan  nodded  assent. 

"  Your  approval  of  the  definition,  Dan, 
betrays  your  heresy,"  quickly  retorted  Victoria 
Barry.  "  Do  you  admit  that  there  is  any 
authority  above  the  church  in  matters  of  faith. 
No.  Of  course  not.  Oh,  foolish  Tractarian, 
what  hath  bewitched  you  that  you  did  not 
foresee  that  affirmations  of  the  soul,  if  at  vari 
ance  with  the  authority  of  the  church,  are  a 
delusion  and  a  snare  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  must  submit  to  the  authority 
of  the  church  in  matters  of  faith." 

"But  if  authority  does  not  abide  by  its  decis 
ions,  if  its  teachings  to-day  are  contradictory 
to  its  teachings  to-morrow,  what  then?" 

"  The  truth  is  the  same,  yesterday,  to-day, 
and  forever." 

"  Let  all  the  people  say  amen,  but  not  with 
out  a  perception  of  the  distinction  between  the 
truth  and  orthodox  doctrines.  But  as  I  under 
stand  you,  it  is  what  the  church  permits  to  be 
taught ;  the  doctrines  it  plainly  upholds,  that 
you  are  ready  to  accept  as  truth  ?  " 


152  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

Dan  nodded  assent. 

"  How  was  it  at  the  close  of  the  tenth  cen 
tury,  the  end  of  the  memorable  year  of  our 
Lord,  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine?  There 
we  have  an  illustration  of  faith  in  the  literal 
Second  Coming,  as  taught  by  the  church  with 
out  question,  and  accepted  throughout  Chris 
tendom." 

"  What  came  to  pass  in  those  days  ?  "  asked 
Sam. 

"  Study  your  history,  my  child.  Don't  you 
remember  how  that  century  went  out  under  the 
fearful  pall  cast  over  it  by  all  Christendom,  the 
belief  that  the  prophecy  concerning  the  bind 
ing  of  the  devil  for  one  thousand  years  was  to 
be  fulfilled  within  that  year?  The  pulpits  of 
the  infallible  church  had  been  teaching  that 
literal  interpretation  of  the  apocalyptic  text  for 
a  generation  and  more.  There  were  no  great 
stone  cathedrals  until  that  day  went  by.  Kings 
laid  down  their  cro\vns,  and  harvests  were 
unsown  in  anticipation  of  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  Repeat  the  prophecy  for  us,"  said  Sam. 

Cousin  Beth  slowly  repeated  the  text. 
"And    I   saw   an   angel   come    down    from 
Heaven,  having  the  key  of  the  bottomless  pit 


THRO  UGH  A  GLA  SS  DARKL  Y.  153 

and  a  great  chain  in  his  hand.  And  he  laid 
hold  on  the  dragon,  that  old  serpent,  which  is 
the  devil  and  Satan,  and  bound  him  a  thousand 
years,  and  cast  him  into  the  bottomless  pit,  and 
shut  him  up,  and  set  a  seal  upon  him,  that  he 
should  deceive  the  nations  no  more  till  the  thou 
sand  years  should  be  fulfilled  ;  and  after  that 
he  must  be  loosed  a  little  season." 

A  hush  followed  the  recitation.  Victoria 
Barry  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Only  think  what  the  Christian  world  would 
be  like  to-day  if  Christians  were  looking  for  the 
end  of  all  things  as  they  were  in  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine.  The  scoffer  then  was  outside 
of  the  pale  of  holy  church,  as  far  removed  as 
we  are  to-night  from  the  Millerite  camp  meet 
ing." 

"Those  times  ought  to  contribute  great  sub 
jects  to  art,"  said  Karl  Saxsby. 

"  The  story  of  the  abbot  of  St.  Vanne  gives 
you  one,"  said  Elizabeth  Culbertson.  "  As 
the  day  of  doom  drew  nearer,  intense  efforts 
were  made  to  appease  the  wrath  of  Heaven ; 
kings  and  emperors  begged  for  admittance  at 
monastery  doors.  Henry  of  Germany  finally 
succeeded  in  being  admitted  as  a  monk  by  the 


154  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

gentle  abbot  of  St.  Vanne,  who  had  tried  to 
convince  him  that  his  duty  was  in  remaining 
upon  his  throne. 

"  '  Sire,'  said  the  abbot,  '  since  you  are  now 
under  my  orders,  and  have  sworn  to  obey  me, 
go  forth  and  fulfill  the  duties  of  the  state  to 
which  God  has  called  you.  Go  forth  a  monk 
of  the  abbey  of  St.  Vanne,  but  emperor  of  the 
.West."' 

"  We  get  a  fair  idea  of  the  realism  of  the 
mediaeval  church  in  the  paintings  of  its  artists," 
said  Karl  Saxsby.  "  Would  any  congregation 
of  to-day  tolerate  above  its  altar,  no  matter  how 
perfect  drawing  and  coloring  might  be,  sinners 
boiling  in  dinner  pots  like  legs  of  mutton,  the 
devil  tossing  the  damned  from  one  pit  to 
another  with  fiery  forks,  the  Judge  looking  on 
serenely  ?  The  faith  of  those  days,  its  percep 
tions  of  spiritual  things,  is  shown  in  its  illustra 
tion  by  art." 

"  The  Nuremberg  Chronicles,  for  instance," 
said  Victoria  Barry ;  "  isn't  it  there  we  find  a 
man  rising  from  the  grave  with  a  wooden 
leg?" 

"  Pity  to  check  such  development  as  there 
has  been  since  those  days,  by  burning  up  every- 


THRO  UGH  A  GLA  SS  DARKL  Y.  155 

thing  as  a  failure ; "  and  Karl  Saxsby  shut  up 
his  note  book,  Mrs.  Wardell  claiming  it  imme 
diately  for  closer  study.  Her  interest  in  the 
conversation  had  been  very  slight.  "  There  is 
comfort  in  what  Lessing  says, — '  Who  knows 
whether  there  will  not  come  a  new  eternal  gos 
pel,  which  will  be  to  Christianity  what  Christian 
ity  was  to  Judaism — a  third  stage  in  the  long 
education  of  mankind  by  God,  for  whom  the 
shortest  line  is  not  a  straight  one  ?  ' ' 

The  symposium  came  to  an  abrupt  end  at 
this  point,  for  the  carriages  had  been  brought  up 
and  Mrs.  Wardell  rose  and  began  taking  leave. 
Marjory  came  down,  and  Phil  reappeared,  and 
they  were  waiting  for  Elizabeth  Culbertson  who 
had  followed  Priscilla  Ottoway  into  the  house, 
when  Kate  McVicar  suddenly  remembered 
what  she  had  come  so  very  near  forgetting  to 
tell  Marjory,  that  there  was  to  be  a  Dickens 
masquerade  at  the  Hermitage  within  a  fort 
night,  and  she  must  come,  yes,  they  must  all 
come — with  a  beaming  smile  for  Phil — without 
fail. 

"  Let  us  see  much  of  each  other  while  time 
shall  last,"  was  Victoria  Barry's  farewell  ;  and 
the  carriage  drove  away  and  Marjory  stood  in 


1 5  6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

the  twilight  listening  to  the  sound  of  their 
voices.  Then  the  mournful  singing  came  up  again 
from  the  camp  ground,  and  the  spectre  of  terror 
that  had  haunted  her  all  the  afternoon  crept 
nearer  and  nearer  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

How  Phil  startled  her  ! 

"  Come,  Marjory,  now  for  a  lark.  I  have  a 
bag  of  mice  here  ;  such  a  time  as  I  have  had  for 
a  week,  catching  them  ;  and  here  " — holding 
another  wriggling  bag  far  behind  him  at  arms- 
length — "is  a  snake  or  two.  If  you  want  some 
fun,  something  to  make  you  forget  all  this 
nonsense  you  have  been  hearing,  just  come 
down  to  the  camp  ground.  I  can  get  into  the 
big  tree  just  over  where  the  women  sit,  and 
when  I  drop  one  of  these  snakes — " 

"  No,  Phil !  "  petulantly  and  decisively ;  and 
she  hurried  away  from  him  and  went  to  her 
own  room  and  closed  the  door  for  the  night. 
Disgusted  with  life,  he  found  a  questionable 
kind  of  pleasure  in  submerging  his  bags  in  the 
creek,  vowing  he  would  never  try  to  please 
Marjory  again.  Then  he  satisfied  himself  that 
she  was  not  sitting  by  her  window  listening  to 
the  grand  "  hullaboolo,"  as  he  called  it,  down  on 
the  camp  ground. 


THR  0  UGH  A  GLA  SS  DA  RKL  Y.  157 

"  She's  thinking  about  the  masquerade,  of 
course,  and  Sir  Victor.  If  there  ever  was  an 
imp  on  this  ground,  it's  that  devilish  Poll- 
Betsey." 

Marjory  was  lying  awake  listening  to  the 
shouting  of  the  fanatics  and  re-living  that 
horrible  dream,  when  she  was  not  trying,  most 
ineffectually,  to  concentrate  her  thoughts  upon 
the  masquerade.  It  was  near  midnight  when 
she  crept  to  the  window  and  looked  up  to  the 
starry  heavens  as  into  a  hard,  inexorable  face 
pronouncing  her  merciless  doom. 

"  If  it  must  be,  why  should  we  know  it  is 
coming  ?  What  happiness  can  there  be  in  a 
world,  with  a  God  like  that?" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT  THE  DOOR. 

PRISCILLA  OTTOWAY  had  not  outlived 
her  love  of  a  secluded  life,  of  rigid  self  exile 
from  the  social  world.  Contentment  with  her 
seclusion,  thankfulness  for  it,  was  the  basis  of 
her  serene  satisfaction.  She  did  not  forget  that 
her  peaceful  exile  had  been  the  source  of  her 
soul's  healing.  She  had  no  yearning  for  the 
world  she  had  forsaken.  She  would  keep 
watchful  eye  lest  it  crept  within  the  refuge  con 
secrated  to  her  by  her  resurrection  from  sorrow. 
Without  regretting  that  she  had  been  thwarted 
in  her  intention  to  live  alone  in  the  old  house 
with  a  faithful  servant  or  two,  she  never  ad 
mitted  that  the  contentment  she  had  found  in 
the  companionship  of  Phil  and  Marjory  was 
more  perfect  than  it  would  have  been,  had 
destiny  never  guided  their  feet  to  her  thresh 
old.  Her  relations  to  each  of  them,  particu 
larly  Marjory,  had  been  peculiarly  tender,  and 


AT  THE  DOOR.  159 

yet  she  knew,  and  they  knew,  that  the  sphere 
of  her  isolation — her  inner  world — was  separate 
from  theirs,  as  she  meant  their  individual  hap 
piness  should  be  from  hers.  They  should  go 
from  her  when  they  would  and  as  they  would. 
She  had  enough  to  do  in  bringing  about  a  har 
monious  conformity  to  fate  in  her  own  life, 
without  being  a  law,  a  fate  for  them.  Phil 
would  never  leave  her.  The  quiet  of  the  old 
house  was  in  tune  with  his  temperament.  But 
Marjory — the  pang  was  hard  to  suppress — would 
fly  away  speedily  ;  she  was  already  trying  her 
restless  wings. 

Nor  did  she  regret  the  invasion  of  her  se 
clusion  by  her  gay  neighbors.  It  would  give 
her  needed  assistance  in  devising  and  carrying 
out  plans  for  Marjory,  from  whom  her  thoughts 
were  never  absent.  She  was  studying  her  fan 
cies,  her  inherited  tastes,  the  unfulfilled  proph 
ecy  of  her  life.  Confidence  was  ripening  be 
tween  them,  a  new  thing,  for  dearly  as  the  girl 
loved  her  Aunt  Prissy  she  was  slow  in  forget 
ting  the  hidden  law  of  separation,  the  unde 
fined  wall  of  reserve  between  them,  which  had 
overcast  her  childhood,  chilling  her  when  as  a 
child  she  had  been  silenced,  and  that  not  by 


160  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

words,  in  her  questionings  about  her  father. 
The  appearance  of  "  Mars  Sam,"  and  its  effect 
on  the  fortunes  of  the  fugitives,  had  given  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway  little  or  no  uneasiness.  She  had 
confidence  in  Samuel  Breckinridge.  She  could 
pay  for  the  freedom  of  the  slaves  if  she  would, 
a  thing  she  did  not  mean  to  do  unless  under 
pressure.  Her  soul  revolted  against  such  con 
cession  to  slavery ;  and  then  it  would  cripple 
her  considerably,  interfering  with  plans  for  the 
future  of  Marjory.  Phil  was  gloomy  with  fore 
bodings  of  what  was  coming  to  pass,  and  Amer 
ica  did  much  muttering  to  herself.  The  two 
kept  sharp  watch  upon  Sam  Breckinridge,  and 
old  Merit  too,  for  that  matter ;  but  the  former 
seemed  likely  to  forget  his  promises  of  a  happy 
settlement  in  the  absorbing  gaieties  of  the  Her 
mitage.  He  had  about  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  should  not  meet  Letitia  Barkenstone  unless 
he  went  in  search  of  her — followed  her  from 
city  to  city,  as  the  multitude  of  believers  were 
doing,  leaving  a  little  flock  to  stand  guard  at 
the  big  tent  on  the  camp  ground  and  wait  for 
her  arrival.  His  letter  to  her  had  ensured  him  a 
daily  mail  of  "Advent"  publications,  and  in  those 
he  could  read  of  her  eloquence  and  wonderful 


AT  THE  DOOR.  161 

power  in  plucking  brands  from  the  burning ; 
but  her  appointments  were  not  announced. 
She  left  her  to-morrows  to  the  promptings  of 
the  spirit,  a  most  vexatious  trial  to  those  re 
sponsible  for  the  big  tent,  and  the  expectation 
of  the  curious  folk  up  the  valley.  Nor  did  he 
get  satisfactory  letters  from  Kentucky  concern 
ing  America.  Her  owner  asked  an  exorbitant 
price  for  her,  and  seemed  disposed  to  teach 
thieving  Garrisonians  a  thing  or  two.  Sam's 
gift  of  diplomacy  would  be  exercised  to  the 
utmost  before  the  matter  was  ended,  and  Cousin 
Vic  declared  he  knew  nothing  about  diplomacy, 
while  Letitia  Barkenstone  was  a  consummate 
diplomatist.  Happily  for  Marjory,  whose  mor 
bidly  inclined  musings  when  by  herself  would 
lead  her  to  read  and  re-read  the  terrible  dream, 
musings  she  never  made  known  to  Aunt  Prissy 
or  Phil,  she  was  included  in  the  party  which 
drove  away  from  the  Hermitage  not  many  days 
after  Mrs.  Wardell's  visit  to  Barley  Flats  for  a 
trip  around  some  of  the  charming  little  lakes  of 
the  neighborhood.  The  nearest  duplicate  of 
an  English  coach  the  country  afforded  was 
found,  after  not  a  little  search  ;  and  Marjory, 
perched  on  an  outside  seat  beside  Victoria 


1 6 2  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

Barry,  her  brown  cheeks  flushed  with  excite 
ment,  had  never  seen  Phil  watching  them  from 
the  shadow  of  the  covered  bridge  when  they 
drove  away.  It  was  quite  as  well  she  did  not, 
for  he  had  seen  little  but  Sam  Breckinridge, 
and  Sam  that  very  moment  was  telling  her 
what  Phil,  of  course,  could  not  hear — how  they 
would  dismiss  the  driver  at  the  village,  and  he 
and  she  would  drive  the  four-in-hand  them 
selves.  Then  Sam  blew  the  horn  cheerily,  and 
the  wondering  farm-folk  stared,  the  children  ran 
out  to  the  middle  of  the  road  to  gaze  after 
them,  Doctor  Wardell  bowing  to  everybody, 
and  Kate  McVicar  describing  everything  in 
detail  to  the  madame,  who  could  see  nothing 
for  her  two  thick  veils.  It  was  needless  for 
any  of  the  party  to  have  a  care  for  anything, 
for  Dan  Van  Horn  had  assumed  the  care  of 
them  all  and  their  belongings,  and  made  the 
whims  of  each  his  study. 

A  week  of  perfect  weather,  of  leisurely  driv 
ing  through  picturesque  farm  land,  bending 
orchards,  and  vistas  of  forest-primeval ;  good 
horses,  good  company,  good  cheer,  camping 
on  lonely  beaches,  dipping  oars  in  silent  waters, 
dancing  in  the  wide  parlors  of  the  hospitable 


AT  THE  DOOR.  163 

houses  along  the  way,  song  and  laughter,  "  Oh, 
what  a  joyous  world  it  is  !  "  thought  Marjory, 
"  and  how  sweet  the  enjoying  of  it  all  with 
those  whose  lives  are  full  of  joy !  "  The  least 
she  could  do,  she  thought,  for  those  at  home, 
was  to  send  them  a  letter,  and  so  the  Sunday 
they  spent  at  Crooked  Lake,  near  Jemima  Wil 
kinson's  house,  she  wrote  to  her  Aunt  Prissy  : 
"  Here  we  are  for  the  Sabbath  ;  for  Dr.  War- 
dell  will  not  hear  of  our  going  on  to-day,  anx 
ious  as  we  all  are  to  reach  the  shores  of  Seneca. 
They  seem  much  interested  in  Jemima  Wil 
kinson.  She  lived  here  some  fifty  years  ago — was 
the  head  of  one  of  the  first  and  largest  settle 
ments  in  the  Genesee  country.  Think  of  forty 
families  going  into  the  woods  to  live  with  such  a 
queer  woman,  to  make  her  their  leader  in  every 
thing!  They  believed  she  had  been  raised  up 
from  the  dead,  that  she  died  once,  and  that  then 
Jesus  Christ  '  made  habitation  of  her  body  ' — 
whatever  that  means.  Only  think  of  believing 
such  nonsense  !  And  that  she  could  raise  the 
dead,  and  heal  the  sick,  and  walk  on  the  water, 
if  she  were  a  mind  to  try — only  she  never  did. 
I  hear  so  much  about  Jesus  the  Christ,  and  I 
know  so  little  about  Him,  I  asked  Cousin  Beth, 


1 64  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

for  she  will  have  me  call  her  so,  to  tell  me  the 
true  story.  And  how  can  they  say  one  like 
Him  will  come  back  to  the  world  to  burn  it  up, 
and  will  save  only  those  who  happen  to  believe 
something  the  rest  know  nothing  about  ?  I  am 
glad  we  don't  trouble  ourselves  with  such 
things  at  Barley  Flats,  only  old  Merit.  I  must 
thank  him  for  the  most  I  know  about  them. 
For  all  my  little  talk  with  Cousin  Beth  this 
morning,  and  the  long  sermon  Mr.  Van  Horn 
read  to  us  afterwards,  and  the  hymns  and  the 
prayers — should  I  have  knelt  ?  I  did  not — I 
couldn't  understand  any  better  than  before 
some  things  I  would  rather  talk  with  you  about 
than  with  any  one  else.  So  many  stories  I  have 
to  tell  you  about  this  Jemima  Wilkinson,  'the 
Universal  Friend,'  and  how  my  tongue  slipped 
in  speaking  of  her ;  and  I  called  her  Letitia 
Barkenstone — they  all  laughed  ;  and  the  doctor 
said  they  were  not  so  very  different,  and  that 
did  not  please  Mr.  Breckinridge.  I  like  to  hear 
him  talk  as  he  does,  when  I  am  driving  and  he 
is  smoking  his  cigar.  Then  Mr.  Breckinridge 
tells  me  so  much  about  the  old  plantation,  and 
gives  his  side  of  Merit's  old  stories.  He  seems 
a  great  deal  older  to  me  than  he  did  at  first, 


AT  THE  DOOR.  i6g 

and  different  in  many  ways.  He  is  not  well, 
and  Cousin  Vic  takes  care  of  him,  carries  his 
cough  medicine  in  her  bag,  and  doses  him  when 
she  thinks  best.  My  Sir  Victor  has  turned 
into  somebody  as  unlike  what  Phil  thinks  I  was 
looking  for  in  a  knight,  as  possible.  I  believe 
Mr.  Breckinridge  thinks  I  am  nothing  but  a 
big  little  girl.  Mrs.  Wardell  nearly  fainted 
the  other  day  when  she  heard  I  was  holding 
the  reins  during  a  little  trouble  we  had  with 
the  horses  in  going  down  a  steep  hill ;  coming 
out  all  right  of  course.  '  That  child  Marjory  ' 
she  calls  me,  which,  with  Mr.  Breckinridge's 
'  Marjory,  child,'  has  set  me  thinking  about  let 
ting  my  hair  grow  long.  Perhaps  a  braid  instead 
of  these  boyish  locks  would  make  them  realize 
that  I  am  nearly  sixteen.  Only  for  the  mas 
querade  we  should  not  turn  about  at  Seneca 
Lake,  but  should  go  on,  and  on ;  for  every  day 
of  this  life  seems  happier  than  the  one  before. 
I  wish  you  could  see  the  doctor  when  we  strike 
a  trout  stream,  and  Will  Primrose,  who  insists 
on  being  cook  when  we  camp  out,  and  lets  us 
starve  while  he  is  studying  the  cook  book  or 
watching  the  frying-pan,  open  cook  book  in 
hand.  Don't  tell  Merit  that  Mr.  Breckinridge 


1 66  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

talks  of  going  to  Europe  this  fall ;  Cousin  Vic 
says  all  that  depends  upon  the  result  of  his  in 
fluence  upon  Letitia  Barkenstone.  Don't  you 
half  wish  Merit  and  America  were  safe  in  Can 
ada  ?  This  letter  rambles  like  the  route  we  are 
following.  Tell  Phil  to  take  Nan  to  the  head 
of  Conesus  Lake  by  Saturday  morning,  and  we 
will  have  a  gallop  home  together.  Why 
wouldn't  Phil  make  a  good  bandit  for  the  mas 
querade?  We  must  think  of  something  for 
him.  That  will  be  his  first  glimpse  of  this  new 
world  I  like  so  much." 

The  Abbess  of  St.  Vanne  and  Daniel  Boone 
did  not  go  to  the  masquerade  in  company.  In 
fact,  the  abbess  was  in  ignorance  of  the  depart 
ure  of  the  pioneer  from  the  house  when  her 
toilet  was  receiving  a  few  last  touches  from 
Aunt  Prissy's  painstaking  hands,  and  America, 
swelling  with  pride,  stood  waiting  to  go  with 
her,  Merit  having  sat  upon  the  box  at  the  door, 
bolt  upright,  for  a  half  hour. 

"And  now  where  is  Phil?  Don't  he  even 
care  to  see  me  before  I  go?"  and  Marjory 
walked  slowly  up  and  down  before  the  glass, 
wondering  if  the  tall  woman  in  the  serge  habit, 
her  great  dark  eyes  transfixing  her  with  their 


AT  THE  DOOR.  167 

surprised  gaze  from  beneath  the  snowy  coronet, 
could  be  really  herself.  How  old  she  looked ! 
that  made  her  gasp  ;  how  brown  and  plump  for 
a  nun ! — at  which  she  laughed,  the  merry 
abbess,  as  she  slipped  her  beads  through  un 
trained  ringers.  But  where  was  Phil  ? 

America  called  his  name  shrilly  from  every 
door,  and  it  was  well  she  did  not  see  old  Merit 
grin  and  chuckle. 

"Never  mind  Phil,"  said  Priscilla  Ottoway ; 
and  her  quiet  smile  would  have  betrayed  her 
secret,  but  Marjory's  eyes  were  studying  the 
abbess.  "  Phil  is  Phil." 

"Yes,  Phil  is  Phil,"  a  sweet  tremulousness  in 
her  petulant  voice,  as  she  kissed  her  aunt  and 
took  her  seat  in  the  carriage.  "  I  thought  at 
the  last  minute  he  would  come  down  ready  to  go. 
He  seems  bent  on  seeing  nothing  but  the  work 
aday  side  of  life." 

"  Some  folks,"  America  was  soliloquizing  as 
she  jerked  the  reins  out  of  Merit's  hands,  "  was 
born  to  allus  split  wood  with  a  hammah." 

Mrs.  Leo  Hunter  as  Minerva,  assisted  by  the 
philosophical  Pickwick  and  the  club,  received 
her  guests  with  languorous  grace,  and  Marjory, 
leaning  upon  Cousin  Beth's  arm,  passed  on 


1 68  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

through  the  fantastically  dressed  crowd,  trou 
badours,  harlequins,  mendicants ;  Dickens's 
characters  predominating,  until  they  found 
Mrs.  Jarley,  a  little  woman  in  a  very  big  bonnet 
and  a  very  red  shawl,  in  whose  special  charge 
the  Abbess  of  St.  Vanne  was  placed. 

"  I  hope  the  abbess  is  not  low  in  her  feelings 
to-night,  as  many  of  these  rollickers  seem  to 
be  in  truth.  It  must  be  the  open  air 
'  wagrancy '  of  the  show.  Ah  !  here  is  the  Cardi 
nal  Richelieu.  He  is  looking  among  the  gypsy 
girls  for  some  one  I  could  not  find  for  him  if  I 
would."  The  pompous  ecclesiastic,  with  his 
white  moustache,  made  reverential  obeisance  to 
the  abbess,  who  silently  inclined  her  head. 

"  Now  my  dears — "chirpingly  from  Mrs.  Jar- 
ley — "  I  must  leave  you  alone,  while  I  look 
after  the  diffuseness  of  the  show  ;  my  spirits 
make  a  little  ease  absolutely  necessary.  Here 
we  go  " — and  before  the  abbess  could  detain 
her,  the  cardinal  was  congratulating  her  on  her 
disguise,  her  beautiful  costume ;  and  did  she 
know  that  Phil  was  in  the  crowd  ?  she  should  dis 
cover  him  for  herself.  That  was  easy  enough, 
with  Daniel  Boone  striding  across  the  lawn 
before  her,  a  rough-looking  fellow  with  gun  and 


AT  THE  DOOR.  169 

game,  General  Baker's  moth-eaten  yellow 
waistcoat  under  John  Wilson's  fur  skin  coat. 
But  there  was  no  attracting  his  attention  ;  he 
had  no  interest  in  sombre  impersonations  like 
hers,  evidently,  and  before  she  could  reach  him 
he  had  disappeared.  The  band  struck  up  a 
waltz,  and  the  cardinal  and  the  abbess  rambled 
away  through  the  fairy-like  scene,  he  taking 
pains  to  show  her  the  most  striking  costumes 
and  charming  effects  of  moonlight  shadows  and 
gay  festoons. 

It  was  an  oppressively  hot  night.  The  foliage 
and  the  grass  were  sere  and  crisp  with  the  long 
drought.  The  leaves  hung  motionless,  suggest 
ing  nature's  breathless  expectancy  ;  the  full 
moon  seemed  pallid  with  waiting  for  a  break 
in  the  tropical  calm.  The  wheat-fields  were 
fully  ripe.  If  the  prayers  of  the  valley  farmers 
had  hearing,  the  rain  would  not  come,  now  it 
had  delayed  so  long,  until  the  harvest  was 
garnered.  The  masks  of  the  revellers  were 
intolerable  and  some  discarded  their  superflui 
ties  of  costume.  Near  midnight  black  threat 
ening  clouds  came  up  in  the  west,  and  the 
weather  prophets  advised  those  who  objected 
to  a  wetting  to  make  timely  departure.  But 


170  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

dance  and  song  went  on,  the  dancers  under 
the  wide  pavilion  caring  less  and  less  for  the  far 
off  lightning  and  low  rumbling  thunder.  Merit 
was  uneasy.  Unless  Marjory  wanted  to  be 
drowmfo/  and  the  carriage  upsot  and  Miss 
Prissy  skeerra/  to  death,  they  must  be  gwine 
home.  But  Merit,  alas,  was  an  unhonored 
prophet  with  Marjory. 

"It's  a  pow'ful  ways  we'se  got  to  go,  Miss 
Margie,  an'  dat  off  hoss — " 

A  sudden  outburst  of  singing,  a  strong 
tumultuous  rhapsody  of  uncultivated  voices, 
broke  in  at  that  moment,  swelling  louder  and 
louder,  something  so  foreign,  mysterious  and 
exciting,  that  in  a  brief  space  of  time  Marjory 
on  Sam  Breckinridge's  arm  was  pressing  for 
ward  with  all  the  rest  to  the  musicians'  stand 
whence  the  singing  proceeded. 

"  It  is  some  of  Kate  McVicar's  doings,  most 
likely,"  was  Sam's  explanation ;  "  the  grand 
finale." 

The  singers  had  not  been  seen  on  the  grounds 
before,  that  was  a  certainty.  Slowly,  very  slowly, 
and  with  widely  different  effect  it  dawned 
upon  the  conviction  of  the  revellers  at  last 
who  the  singers  were,  those  plainly  dressed 


A  T  THE  DOOR.  1 7 1 

men  and  women,  hymn  books  in  hand,  their 
rapt  faces  upturned  to  the  moon  as  they 
wailed  verse  after  verse  of  prosaic  doggerel, 
the  characteristic  hosannah  of  the  fanaticism  ; 
beginning  with. 

"  You  will  see  your  Lord  a  coming 
You  will  see  your  Lord  a  coming 
You  will  see  your  Lord  a  corning 
To  the  old  church-yard. 

While  the  band  of  music 
While  the  band  of  music 
While  the  band  of  music 

Shall  be  sounding  through  the  air." 

It  has  been  said  that  in  the  singing  of  the 
Millerites  was  their  mighty  power.  They 
illustrated  the  power  of  their  singing  on 
this  occasion,  thrilling  their  hearers  with 
a  strange  awe,  which  the  grotesqueness  of 
the  singers,  and  the  absurdity  of  what  was 
sung  did  not  greatly  lessen.  One  was  a  tre 
mendous  basso,  supplemented  by  a  shrieking 
soprano,  a  dwarfish  woman  under  his  elbow, 
whose  mouth  seemed  hopelessly  extended  with 
proclaiming  the  Midnight  Cry.  The  alto  was  a 
comely  matron  but  for  her  barbarously  cut  hair, 
chopped  squarely  off  from  ear  to  ear.  Her 


1 72  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

long  thin  neck  was  unrelieved  by  collar  or  rib 
bon,  her  ugly  calico  skirt  was  scant  and  short 
as  possible.  She  bit  off  the  words  she  sang  with 
a  vicious  snap,  her  hungry  eyes  trailing  over 
the  upturned  faces  as  if  separating  sheep  from 
goats.  Shrinking  behind  her  was  a  lank  boyish 
figure,  the  typical  Franciscan  of  every  fanaticism, 
minus  the  cowl  andserge.  His  shrill  untrained 
tenor  soared  high  and  free.  By  the  time  the 
singers  had  reached  the  verse,  particularly 
addressed,  as  was  the  whole  hymn  for  that 
matter,  to  the  poor  sinner — 

"  You  will  flee  to  rocks  and  mountains — " 
Marjory  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"You  must  go,  child,"  Sam  Breckinridge 
reiterated,  gently  striving  to  lead  her  to  the 
house,  when  their  feet  were  stayed  by  the  ap 
pearance  upon  the  platform  of  a  woman  who 
emerged  suddenly  from  behind  the  singers,  a 
tall  queenly  form,  advancing  into  the  full  moon 
light.  She  stood  composedly  in  the  expectant 
silence,  her  calm  eyes  surveying  the  scene  with 
the  far  away  look  of  an  inspired  seer.  She  was 
looking  down  from  a  height  scorn  and  derision 
might  not  reach.  The  gulf  between  her  and 
the  grovellers  of  a  fleshly  world  might  only  be 


AT  THE  DOOR.  1 73 

spanned  by  divine  compassion.  She  was  not 
of  those  senseless  revellers,  bedecked-  with 
gauds  and  jewels,  and  woe  be  unto  her,  an 
everlasting  woe,  if  she  blew  not  the  trumpet 
in  their  desolate  places,  and  made  them  to  hear 
the  gospel  of  deliverance.  The  gulf  between 
her  and  the  revellers  was  not  wider  than  that 
between  her  and  the  singers,  her  body  guard 
seemingly,  whose  defiant  uncertainty  as  to 
whether  they  should  be  permitted  a  full  hear-, 
ing  or  not  disappeared  as  soon  as  she  was  fairly 
before  the  eyes  of  the  "  scoffers."  Who  had 
looked  for  such  a  woman  in  a  Millerite  preach 
er?  A  firmly  posed  head,  its  coil  of  iron  gray 
hair  encircling  it  like  a  coronet,  her  quakerish 
dress  of  gray  satin  made  by  no  unskilled  mo 
diste.  A  whisper  passed  through  the  crowd, 
which  Marjory  did  not  need  to  catch  first  from 
Sam  Breckinridge,  to  know  who  the  beautiful 
woman  was — Letitia  Barkenstone. 

"Behold  He  cometh  !  " 

Only  one  believing  all  that  Letitia  Barken 
stone  did,  when  she  gave  utterance  to  those 
words  in  her  wondrously  clear,  strong  and  sus 
tained  voice,  her  finger  pointing  to  the  blacken 
ing  heavens,  could  have  made  the  message  seem 


174  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

so  like  a  voice  from  heaven,  the  voice  preced 
ing  the  archangel  and  the  trump  of  God — 
"  Behold  the  Bridegroom  cometh  !  "  her  voice 
ascending  in  its  marvellous  compass  and 
descending  to  the  depths  of  its  melancholy 
sweetness.  "  He  cometh  with  clouds,  and 
every  eye  shall  see  Him.  The  kindreds  of  the 
earth  shall  wail  because  of  Him.  The  grand 
drama  is  begun.  The  God  of  Heaven  hath 
numbered  the  kingdoms  and  now  He  breaks 
them  in  pieces  as  a  potter's  vessel.  Babylon  is 
fallen !  The  saints  of  the  Most  High  shall 
take  the  kingdom  and  possess  it  even  for  ever 
and  ever !  The  Judge  of  the  earth  is  at  the 
door ! " 

"  Prove  it,"  from  a  voice  in  the  background. 

"  I  speak  that  which  I  do  know,"  without 
turning  her  eyes  towards  the  speaker.  "  He 
has  given  us  to  know  His  times  and  seasons  in 
His  blessed  word.  How  do  I  know  He  cometh, 
and  that  He  cometh  quickly  ?  When  ye  see 
these  things  know  that  He  is  nigh  even  at  the 
door.  We  have  seen  the  signs  of  His  coming. 
The  world  has  seen  them.  Those  signs  are  each 
and  all  fulfilled.  We  may  calculate  the  prophe, 
tic  periods  on  the  scale  of  time,  the  calculation 


AT  THE  DOOR.  175 

of  two  thousand  and  three  hundred  days  ends 
with  1843.  The  seventy  weeks  ends  with  1843. 
I  am  assuming  that  you  are  Bible  students.  If 
you  are  not,  begin  that  study  before  it  is  too 
late,  if  this  night  or  to-morrow  does  not  end 
your  probation.  Come  to  the  camp  ground 
and  see  those  calculations  upon  the  chart :  the 
sixth  trumpet  ending  with  1843,  the  times, 
times  and  a  half,  the  seven  times,  the  1290  days, 
and  Israel's  captivity.  1843  Jewish  time  is 
1844  Roman  time.  Our  ignorance  of  that  fact 
in  our  first  study  of  the  subject  has  given  us 
the  tarrying  time  foretold.  That  tarrying  time 
was  permitted  for  your  souls'  salvation.  Rise, 
rise,  from  the  sleep  of  death  !  Woe  to  them 
that  sleep  !  Woe  to  them  that  dance  !  Woe, 
Woe!  Woe!" 

Marjory  was  faint  with  excitement,  nor  was 
she  the  only  one  affected  by  the  preacher. 
Women  were  sobbing,  and  their  escorts  hurry 
ing  them  from  the  spot !  The  minority  only 
of  those  who  lingered  scoffed  openly  and  ex 
pressed  their  views  of  the  unwarranted  intru 
sion.  Cousin  Beth  had  managed  to  prevent 
Mrs.  Wardell  from  knowing  what  was  taking 
place,  but  the  doctor,  upon  hearing  of  it,  made 
speedy  descent  upon  Cousin  Letitia,  and  the 


1 7  6  THE  MIDNIGH  T  CR  Y. 

droll  appearance  of  that  plump  rubicund  old 
gentleman  as  Pickwick  upon  the  scene,  his  cir 
cular  spectacles  on  his  bald  crown,  his  note 
books  dropping  behind  him,  brought  a  sudden 
reaction  of  feeling. 

"  Be  silent,  Cousin  Letitia,"  and  she  tran 
quilly  obeyed,  outreaching  her  hand  for  an 
embarrassed  greeting.  "  I  haven't  heard  a 
word, you  know,  and  am  glad  I  can't,  but  those 
damnable  doctrines  shall  not  be  preached  on 
my  grounds.  Send  off  these — "  stopping  short, 
however,  in  his  confused  survey  of  her  attend 
ants,  who  were  getting  ready  to  sing.  "  Come 
to  the  house  and  behave  like  a  Christian.  Sam 
is  here,  you  know.  There's  no  use  in  your  talk 
ing  to  a  deaf  man,"  and  Doctor  Wardell 
flourished  his  ear  trumpet.  "  I'm  an  old  fash 
ioned  Episcopalian,  and  will  risk  my  chance 
with  the  old  ship.  No  new  lights  for  me,  Cousin 
Letitia.  Here's  Sam,  good  fellow  as  ever 
lived,  don't  know  what  we  would  have  done 
without  him  this  summer.  That's  right — " 
when  brother  and  sister  kissed  each  other,  his 
voice  trembling  a  little  as  he  added  for  their 
ears  alone,  "You  can't  go  up,  Letitia,  until  you 
straighten  out  some  things  with  your  own 
mother's  son." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ASHES     OF     ROSES. 

"  TS  your  soul  at  peace  with  your  God,  my 

1  child  ?  "  Letitia  Barkenstone  had  asked 
of  Marjory,  pressing  the  girl's  trembling  hand 
between  both  her  own,  and  searching  her  soul 
with  her  penetrating  eyes.  "  Have  you  found 
your  God  ?" 

Marjory  could  not  answer  and  Cousin  Beth 
drew  her  away. 

It  was  doubtful  if  she  could  reach  home 
before  the  breaking  of  the  storm,  unless  she 
started  at  once. 

"  How  cold  your  hands  are,  my  child,"  Cousin 
Beth  had  followed  her  to  the  dressing- 
room  ;  "  I  wish  you  might  stay  with  us  to-night, 
and  so  you  should  if  the  house  were  not  over 
flowing.  Merit  says  your  carriage  is  as  snug  as 
can  be,  and  that  the  horses  are  safe.  Good-night 
to  the  Abbess  of  St.  Vanne,"  kissing  her,  "  she  is 
tired  of  the  gay  world,  I  see." 


1 78  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

Marjory  turned  back,  she  had  forgotten  her 
bouquet,  one  Mr.  Breckinridge  had  given  her, 
and  finding  it  she  hid  it  under  her  light  wrap. 
She  thanked  Cousin  Beth  for  a  charming  even 
ing,  and  promised  in  a  mechanical,  absent  way 
to  come  to  the  Hermitage  very  soon.  In  the 
crush  of  carriages  detaining  them  for  a  moment, 
she  saw  Samuel  Breckinridge  drive  away  with 
Letitia  Barkenstone.  Then  Merit  made  fast  the 
curtains,  and  they  were  soon  on  the  highway, 
the  horses  leaping  at  the  deafening  thunder, 
the  rain  pouring  down  in  torrents. 

America  was  on  the  box,  reins  in  hand,  Merit 
curled  down  behind  her  broad  shoulders  pray 
ing  with  all  his  might. 

"  We'se  nebber  gwine  ter  see  de  mawnin', 
Meriky.  He's  sendin'  down  de  fiah  an'  de  brim- 
stun,  fer  shuah.  Miss  Tisha  she  know'd,  she  tol' 
us,  she  said  it  was  cumin',  an'  now  Mars  Sam  is 
gwine  ter  de  camp  groun',  to  go  up  'long  wid  her. 
Le'  me  out,  Meriky,"  clutching  her  arm,  "  le' 
me  go  down  to  de  camp  groun'  an'  go  up  along 
Mars  Sam." 

America  was  calm  as  a  figure  head  of  Minerva 
on  a  sinking  ship.  She  could  settle  with  Merit 
when  she  had  less  on  her  hands.  If  the  world 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  17 9 

were  on  fire,  and  she  didn't  know  but  it  might 
be  for  all  the  water,  dropping  the  reins  would 
not  help  matters,  she  silently  reasoned.  The 
trees  bent  in  the  whirlwind  like  grain,  but  hap 
pily  the  road  was  sheltered  by  the  hill  for  some 
distance.  When  they  reached  the  open  plain, 
there  was  an  ominous  hush  in  the  storm,  and 
America  lashed  the  horses  forward  at  their 
utmost  speed. 

"  How  sorry  Phil  is  that  he  did  not  stay  and 
ride  home  with  me,"  thought  Marjory.  In  the 
stifling  air  of  the  closely  shut  carriage,  there 
was  a  subtle  spell  in  the  scent  of  the  flowers  she 
was  holding.  She  heard  voices  above  the 
tempest,  and  over  and  over  she  listened  to  every 
word.  Was  it  true  ?  could  it  be  true  ?  all  this 
that  was  shrivelling  every  joy  of  her  life,  this 
prophecy  of  inevitable  doom  ?  Was  it  coming, 
so  near,  so  inexorable?  The  scent  of  the  roses 
was  suffocating.  She  would  have  thrown  them 
from  her  if  she  could ;  dust  to  dust,  ashes  to 
ashes  ;  why  had  roses  ever  bloomed  or  hearts 
ever  been  glad  ?  It  was  horrible  !  What  a  great 
trap  the  world  was,  and  how  helpless  she,  and 
all  the  rest,  in  the  device  from  which  there  was 
no  escape.  She  hated  this  God  ;  and  with  her 


l8o  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

intense  rebellion  there  came  again  the  memory 
of  the  God  of  her  earliest  childhood,  the  prayers 
she  used  to  say  at  her  father's  knee,  the  God 
somehow  painfully  associated  with  the  great 
coffins  at  the  shop  door.  Her  father  believed  in 
this  very  God  Letitia  Barkenstone  would  have 
her  make  peace  with  before  it  was  forever  too 
late.  Make  peace  with  !  He  had  broken  her 
peace.  Would  He  had  never  found  her  again  ! 
Yes,  she  wished  she  could  hide  from  Him !  She 
would  fly  to  any  rock  or  mountain  that  would 
hide  her  from  Him  forevermore.  What  if  that 
night  were  the  end  ?  that  hour?  Her  heart  stood 
still !  She- called  out  to  America  through  a  gap 
in  the  curtain  between  them. 

"  Can  you  see  the  camp  ground  ?  Are  the 
tents  gone?" 

•  America  laughed  derisively,  and  answered  in 
the  shrillest  key. 

"  Nebber  min'  dem  ranters,  honey.  Dey've 
got  Miss  Tisha  fur  a  driber ;  dem  Buckin- 
ridges  don't  git  upsot  while  dere's  any  ting 
to  stan'  on.  Mars  Sam  didn't  take  her  to  de 
camp  groun'.  Tink  Miss  Tisha's  gwine  up  wid 
a  lot  of  white  trash?  I  knows  Miss  Tisha,  don' 
ye  worry  'bout  her.  Look  a  dar  at  de  ole 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  181 

house — ebery  windah  is  gwine.  Miss  Prissy  is 
lookin'  out  fur  us,  shuah  nuff." 

"  Lively  times  up  there  !  "  they  heard  Duncan 
Cameron  shout  above  the  whistling  tornado  as 
they  drove  through  the  gate.  They  paid  little 
heed.  Under  the  great  wood-shed  where  the 
carriage  brought  up,  Priscilla  Ottoway  met 
them.  Marjory  threw  her  arms  about  her  neck 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  now  it  is  over,"  holding 
her  close  to  her  heart.  "  Great  things  have  hap 
pened  here  to-night."  And  then  she  told  them 
how  the  storm  had  driven  the  people  on  the 
camp  ground  to  her  door,  how  they  had  filled 
the  house  to  overflowing,  even  the  barns,  for 
the  tents  had  been  blown  down  and  there  was 
no  end  of  frightened  women  and  children. 
Happily  for  her,  Phil  had  been  there  when  the 
stampede  began. 

"And  mother?"  asked  Marjory,  her  quick 
ear  catching  her  mother's  voice  in  the  babel 
within. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,"  was  the  tranquil  reply. 
"  She  heard  the  women  praying  and  walked  in 
among  them.  They  have  anointed  her  with 
oil  and  pronounced  her  healed." 


1 82  THE  MIDX1GHT  CRY. 

The  door  opened  at  that  moment  and  a 
masculine  woman  came  forth  shouting  in  a 
trance-like  ecstasy. 

"  She  hath  put  her  trust  in  the  arm  of  the 
Lord.  The  hoofs  of  the  daughters  of  Zion  are 
as  brass,  and  they  shall  tread  down  their 
enemies,  praise  the  Lord." 

Behind  her  stood  Annie  Burke,  an  unnatural 
brilliancy  in  her  dilated  eyes,  a  painful  smile 
on  her  quivering  mouth,  every  nerve  strained 
to  its  utmost  as  she  uplifted  her  thin  arms  and 
held  them  open  a  moment,  then  sank  upon  her 
chair.  Marjory  stood  gazing  at  her  transfixed 
with  horror,  then,  without  having  uttered  a 
word,  retreated  and  darted  up  the  stairs.  She 
found  Phil  on  guard  by  her  door. 

"  It's  the  only  room  in  the  house  they  haven't 
taken  possession  of,  but  I've  had  my  way  about 
this  one."  The  sound  of  an  infant's  pitiful 
wailing  was  heard  in  her  mother's  chamber, 
and  men  and  women  were  bustling  through  the 
hall.  "  I'll  clear  them  all  out  at  daylight, 
Marjory,  if  it  takes  a  shotgun.  Make  fast  the 
door  somehow" — bolts  and  locks  were  unknown 
in  the  interior  of  the  house.  "  I  must  go  and 
help  Merit.  It  will  take  no  end  of  oats  for  all 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  183 

the  horses  in  the  stable.  There'll  never  be 
another  meeting  on  that  camp  ground." 

Then  he  came  back  to  make  sure  she  wanted 
nothing.  She  thanked  him  absently,  weariedly. 
The  rain  was  beating  against  the  windows. 
The  wind  shook  the  house.  The  valley  was 
ablaze  with  the  lightning,  and  the  thunder  ter 
ribly  near.  She  had  dropped  the  bouquet,  and 
she  gave  a  little  start  when  she  saw  it  under 
his  masquerading  boots. 

"  Yes,  do  come  back,  Phil,  as  soon  as  you  can. 
Tell  America  to  bring  mother  here  at  once. 
We  must  get  her  away  from  those  dreadful 

women." 

*          *          *  #          #          # 

The  storm  was  over  by  daybreak,  and  great 
was  the  havoc  left  in  its  track.  Giant  trees 
had  been  twisted  like  osiers  and  torn  up  by  the 
roots,  houses  unroofed,  and  wheat-fields  trodden 
down  as  by  hosts  of  armed  men.  The  big  tent 
was  a  wreck.  That  no  one  of  the  multitude  on 
the  ground  was  harmed  in  the  least  was  con 
sidered  a  miracle.  Every  house  in  the  vicinity 
was  over-filled  with  believers,  and  great  was  the 
army  of  new  converts,  scoffers  before  the  out 
break  of  the  storm. 


1 84  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

The  story  of  the  instantaneous  healing  of 
Annie  Burke  was  proclaimed  throughout  the 
valley,  and  soon  throughout  the  land.  There 
was  a  new  interest  in  the  old  house  and  its 
inmates,  and  the  story  of  the  boy  preacher  and 
his  marriage  was  revived.  Annie  Burke  found 
herself  very  famous,  or  rather  the  company  of 
women  who  had  assumed  the  charge  of  her  still 
nebulous  and  uncertain  conceptions  of  what 
was  taking  place,  impressed  her  with  the  fact 
that  the  eyes  of  an  unbelieving  world  were  upon 
her,  and  that  she  had  been  uplifted  by  the 
prayers  of  saints  whose  wings  would  not  fail 
in  supporting  her  until  her  own  pinions  were 
strong.  She  would  not  be  separated  from 
them,  and  Marjory  had  found  that  interference 
was  in  vain. 

The  morning  so  many  had  never  expected 
to  behold,  found  Priscilla  Ottoway  sitting 
before  the  kitchen  fire  with  a  sleeping  baby 
on  her  lap.  America  had  drawn  back  the 
curtains,  and  mixed  her  bountiful  provision  of 
cakes  and  breads,  with  unflattering  comments 
upon  the  guests  of  the  house,  and  particularly 
the  baby  that  had  kept  her  mistress  nursing  it 
for  hours.  They  never  had  such  doings  down 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  185 

South.  It  was  only"  up  Norf"  where,  from  her 
outlook  that  morning,  Mars  Sam  and  Miss 
Tisha  had  unlimited  freedom  in  making  every 
body  miserable.  They  had  kept  her  sitting  up 
on  the  kitchen  settle  all  night,  to  say  nothing 
of  spoiling  a  big  field  of  corn,  she  had  planted 
and  hoed  in  shares  with  the  Camerons.  She 
had  put  out  the  candles  perhaps  a  trifle  too 
early,  and  made  unnecessary  haste  in  calling 
Merit  from  his  dreams,  to  prepare  a  bountiful 
supply  of  potatoes,  but  it  would  be  an  early 
breakfast  she  would  serve  that  morning,  and 
after  breakfast  the  house  should  be  cleared  if 
Miss  Prissy  would  let  Mars  Phil  have  his  way 
about  it. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  paying  no  heed  to  the 
black  mammy's  monologue,  as  she  sat  watching 
the  sleeping  baby,  its  little  fingers  curled  around 
her  own.  How  sweetly  the  day  was  breaking 
after  such  a  night !  How  green  the  valley  lay  in 
the  gray  dawn  !  She  could  get  a  glimpse  of  it 
all  from  where  she  sat,  half  fancying  there  was 
an  increase  of  joy  in  the  song  of  the  birds,  the 
crowing  of  the  cocks,  and  the  tranquil  lowing  of 
the  herds;  the  joy  that  would  come  to  Marjory 
with  her  waking  she  hoped,  the  true  song  of 


1 86  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

her  life  so  harshly  interrupted,  and  that  at  its 
height,  as  Priscilla  Ottoway  thought,  recalling 
the  flushed  smiling  face  looking  back  at  her 
from  the  carriage  the  evening  before.  It  had 
been  a  trying  night  for  the  child,  but  she  was 
elastic  and  brave,  "  and  this  too,"  she  was  re 
peating  to  herself,  "  shall  pass  away,"  when  an 
outcry  from  Merit,  and  the  croaking  of  Poll- 
Betsey  in  her  startled  flight  from  his  shoulder  to 
the  mantel-piece  broke  her  abstraction.  Mar 
jory  was  standing  beside  her  haggard  and  pale. 

"  O  Lor,  Miss  Margie,"  and  Merit  tried  rub 
bing  the  cobwebs  from  his  eyes,  "  I  mus'  be 
dreamin'  shuah.  I's  bin  dreamin'  'bout  yer  all 
night,  an'  Lijah's  cha'yot,  an'  de  hosses  wid 
de  golden  shoes." 

Aunt  Prissy  had  drawn  her  to  her  side. 

"  What  a  dreary  morning  it  is,"  Marjory 
said  with  a  slight  shiver,  "  and  you  have  been 
sitting  here  with  that  poor  baby  half  the  night." 

"  Lettin'  folks  sleep  as'll  only  keep  folks  awake 
wid  dere  howlin'  when  dey  git  rested,"  put  in 
America,  as  if  to  the  rolling-pin  flattening  out 
her  hillocks  of  dough. 

"  But  I  could  not  sleep,  Aunt  Prissy,  how 
could  I  ?  Let  me  take  the  baby  and  you  go  to 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  187 

my  room,"  essaying  to  relieve  her  of  her  burden, 
but  without  success.  "  Everything  is  horribly 
dreary,"  looking  around  the  kitchen.  "I  thought 
the  night  would  never  go  by.  Yes,  mother  is 
asleep.  Will  those  dreadful  women  stay  here 
forever?  No,  America,  I  couldn't,"  pushing 
aside  the  cup  of  coffee.  "  Let  me  sit  down 
here  by  you,  Merit,"  and  she  crept  into  the 
corner  beside  him,  as  she  used  to  do  when  a 
little  child  and  the  world  went  wrong. 

"  We'se  gwine  ter  git  out  o'  de  wid-e-ness 
by'm  by,  Miss  Margie.  Dere  ain't  no  wid-e-ness 
big  nuff  fer  de  Lawd's  people  to  git  los'  in.  I 
dreamed  las'  night  dat  you  an'  Mars  Sam " 

America  ended  that  narrative  promptly. 

"  But  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  them 
all  ?  "  insisted  Marjory.  "  I  half  wish  mother 
may  disappoint  those  dreadful  women  this 
morning,  don't  you  ?" 

"  But  she  won't,"  said  Aunt  Prissy  slowly  and 
firmly. 

"And  can't  we  send  them  away?" 

"Not  until  they  have  had  their  breakfast, 
child.  What  if  your  mother  insists  on  going 
with  them?" 

"  Oh  Aunt  Prissy  !  "  incredulously. 


1  88  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"  We  must  accept  the  inevitable.  I  can 
not  tell  you  now  why  I  believe  she  will  go 
with  these  people  and  why  I  cannot  prevent 
it  even  for  your  sake,  Marjory.  All  will  be  for 
the  best,  my  child.  Fate  wounds  us  most  when 
we  fight  against  it." 

"  And  is  there  nothing  stronger  than  fate  ? 
I  hate  it  all.  I  feel  like  a  fly  in  a  web.  Oh, 
Aunt  Prissy,"  suddenly  softening,  her  tears 
coming  fast,  "  we  were  so  happy  before  all  this, 
and  now  nothing  can  be  the  same  again." 

"  Nonsense,  Marjory.  Why,  child,  I  am  dis 
appointed  in  you,"  the  soft  pity  in  her  eyes 
contradicting  her  words  ;  Marjory's  were 
hidden  in  her  hands.  "  Learn  to  be  the  master 
of  your  moods,  if  you  would  master  all  else. 
Cheer  up,  child,  see  what  a  sunrise  after  last 
night !  " 

"  But  why  did  the  sun  ever  rise,  if  all  that 
they  say  is  going  to  happen  must  come,  and 
very  soon?  " 

Merit  was  making  no  headway  with  his  pota 
toes  during  this  conversation,  and  was  evidently 
under  painful  repression,  his  eyes  rolling  from 
Marjory  to  America,  with  marvellous  change 
of  expression. 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  189 

"  Whose  gwine  ter  keep  de  sun  from  risin', 
chile  ?  "  and  America  briskly  dusted  the  flour 
from  her  hands.  "  De  best  ting  for  yer 
dis  mawnin'  is  a  bowl  o'  catnip.  Leab  it  to 
'er  old  mammy,  Miss  Prissy,  to  cure  'erof  dem 
hugger-muggers.  I  wondahs  we'se  not  all  done 
for  wid  de  dancin',  an'  de  prayin',  an*  de 
hollerin'.  For  my  part — " 

A  step  was  heard  outside,  then  a  low  rap, 
and  Samuel  Breckinridge  walked  in,  surprised 
and  for  a  moment  disconcerted  at  finding  any 
one  but  the  blacks  in  the  kitchen.  He  had 
spent  a  sleepless  night,  he  said,  at  the  over 
crowded  inn  where  he  and  Letitia  Barkenstone 
had  found  refuge  from  the  storm.  He  had 
been  anxious  about  Marjory,  fearful  lest  some 
accident  had  befallen  her.  He  had  heard  of 
the  demand  upon  their  hospitality,  had  met  the 
"  brother "  hastening  with  the  news  of  the 
"  miracle  "  to  Letitia  Barkenstone.  He  used 
the  word  miracle  tentatively,  it  was  plain, 
furtively  observing  its  effects  upon  Marjory  and 
her  aunt.  Their  silent  acquiescence  convinced 
him  that  there  was  a  foundation  at  least  for  the 
report  the  brother  had  risen  so  early  to  spread 
abroad. 


190  THE  MIDXIGHT  CRY. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  he  had 
heard  Marjory  say  before  he  discerned  her 
in  the  deep  chimney  corner,  her  hands  out 
stretched  entreatingly,  and  eager  expectancy 
in  her  troubled  unsmiling  face. 

"Then  I  am  glad  I  am  come,  my  child,"  he 
responded  with  a  cheerfulness  equal  to  the  con 
straint  in  Priscilla  Ottoway's  welcome,  and  the 
frown  with  which  America  had  surveyed  his 
muddy  boots.  Drawing  up  to  the  fire,  for  the 
morning  was  chilly  and  damp,  he  had  merrily 
recounted  his  experience  of  the  night  before, 
calling  out  from  each  of  them,  excepting  Mar 
jory  who  was  silent  and  grave,  a  story  which  he 
made  amusing  if  they  did  not. 

"  Did  I  dream  there  was  a  masquerade  only 
last  night  ?  "  handing  the  cup  of  coffee  Priscilla 
Ottoway  ordered  for  him  to  Marjory  and 
insisting  on  her  breakfasting  with  him,  "and 
that  the  Cardinal  Richelieu  was  charmed  with 
a  lovely  abbess  ?  " 

"  It  seems  years  ago,"  said  Marjory,  bright 
ening. 

"  Then  it  was  not  a  dream  ?  But  such  a  long 
night  as  it  has  been,  and  such  a  long  dis 
course  as  my  sister  Letitia  has  delivered. 


A  SUES  OF  ROSES.  1 9  r 

She  is  discoursing  yet,"  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "  She  has  the  keys  to  all  the 
prophecies,  and  she  has  unlocked  those 
prophecies  one  by  one,  and  made  known  their 
mysteries.  She  is  wonderfully  eloquent.  No 
body  thought  of  going  to  sleep.  She  is  coming 
over  here  to-day."  The  baby  was  crying  and 
Priscilla  Ottoway  carried  it  to  its  mother. 
"  She  is  desirous  to  see  you  again.  Don't  let 
that  trouble  you,  child,"  with  low  entreaty,  for 
the  shadow  deepened  on  Marjory's  face.  "  It  is 
necessary  that  she  should  see  your  aunt.  In 
fact  her  business  brings  me  here  this  morning, 
that  and  my  anxiety  about  you." 

The  house  was  astir,  and  a  peculiar  waking 
it  naturally  was,  the  believers  exchanging  greet 
ings  with  each  other,  expressive  of  their  thanks 
giving  that  another  morning  had  dawned,  that 
the  tarrying  time  was  a  little  longer  prolonged, 
one  of  the  brethren  singing,  in  a  rasping  nasal 
voice,  as  he  made  his  ablutions  at  the  spring 
near  the  kitchen  door: 

"  The  last  lovely  morning 
All  blooming  and  fair, 
Is  fast  onward  fleeting 
And  soon  will  appear." 


1 92  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"  What  straws  in  the  whirlpool  of  fate  we 
are !  "  Marjory  heard  Sam  Breckinridge  saying 
while  watching  the  scene  outside.  "The 
wonder  is  they  don't  work  more  miracles  than 
they  do.  I  am  prepared  for  anything  in  the 
way  of  signs  and  wonders  in  such  a  gathering. 
There  ought  to  be  no  end  of  miracles  here 
to-day." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  nothing  that  my  mother 
has  been  healed?"  asked  Marjory,  a  judgment 
in  her  eye  he  shrank  from  encountering. 

He  stood  musing  a  moment,  his  smile  deep 
ening  with  his  perplexity  in  answering  her. 

"  Miracles  always  come,  child,  when  miracles 
are  in  demand.  Yes,  we  must  call  this  a  mira 
cle,  I  suppose,  if  a  miracle  is  what  some  have 
defined  it — a  surprise." 

"Aunt  Prissy  is  not  surprised,  and  Phil  says 
it  is  just  what  might  have  been  expected,"  his 
smile  reflected  on  her  brightening  face. 

"  Then  call  it  a  fact,  if  it  be  one,  and  don't 
get  morbid  brooding  over  it.  Leave  it  to  wise 
acres  to  discuss  if  it's  a  sign  from  heaven,  or  the 
sequence  of  heredity,  constitutional  bias,  cere 
bral  conformation,  cranial  vision Mar 
jory  was  laughing  outright.  "  We  don't  read 


ASHES  OF  ROSES.  193 

that  the  apostles  studied  the  miracles  psycholog 
ically.  The  best  thing  you  can  do,  my  child, 
is  to  get  out  of  all  this  as  soon  as  possible. 
Nan  will  help  you  this  morning,  as  no  one  else 
can.  A  gallop  with  her  on  the  upland  road  is 
what  you  need."  And  nothing  she  could  say 
prevented  his  going  to  the  stables,  where  he 
found  Phil,  and  between  them  they  saddled  the 
mettlesome  mare,  who  in  less  than  an  hour  was 
a  good  ten  miles  from  the  old  house  in  the 
valley,  the  ruddy-cheeked  girl  on  her  back  half 
wishing  she  might  never  turn  back,  if  so  she 
might  escape — she  hardly  could  have  told  from 
what. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

FROM     THE     DEAD. 

THE  carriage  had  hardly  left  the  house  the 
night  before  bearing  Marjory  to  the  mas 
querade,  when  Priscilla  Ottoway,  sitting  in  the 
dusky  shadow  of  the  porch  with  her  dogs 
around  her,  saw  Dennis  Cameron  approaching 
the  house.  He  brought  her  what  she  seldom 
received  in  those  days,  since  the  death  of  John 
Wilson's  sisters — a  letter.  Bidding  Dennis 
wait,  she  went  inside  and  broke  the  seal. 

It  was  from  Christopher  Burke. 

He  was  in  Philadelphia,  had  just  returned 
from  England,  where  he  had  been  for  many 
years.  "  What  has  become  of  my  wife  and 
child  ?  Let  nothing  delay  our  meeting  if  they 
are  still  in  the  flesh."  He  stated  that  he  was  a 
believer  in  the  Speedy  Coming,  a  proclaimer  of 
the  glad  tidings,  and  had  spent  everything  that 
he  might  make  the  journey  home  and  see  wife 


FROM  THE  DEAD,       .  195 

and  child  again,  pluck  them,  perhaps,  as  brands 
from  the  burning.  Everything  relating  to  his 
disappearance  could  be  explained.  Would  she 
send  him  the  means  to  reach  his  family  if  they 
were  still  alive?  He  should  have  hastened  to 
the  meeting  on  the  Barley  Flats  camp  ground 
but  for  lack  of  funds.  He  closed  with  an 
exhortation  for  her  to  repent,  if  she  had  not 
already  found  peace  with  her  God. 

"  Wait,  Dennis,"  she  called  sharply  before  she 
had  read  many  sentences,  "you  must  carry  a 
letter  to  the  office  for  me  to-night."  With 
out  giving  the  letter  a  second  reading  she 
wrote  : 

"  Meet  me  at  Happy  Valley.  I  will  leave 
here  for  there  to-morrow  morning,"  adding  a 
few  concise  directions  as  to  the  place  where  he 
might  expect  to  find  her. 

She  watched  Dennis  ride  away  in  the  moon 
light,  and  heard  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet 
as  they  dashed  over  the  wooden  bridges  between 
her  and  the  high  road.  No,  she  had  not  made 
a  rash  decision.  She  would  go.  She  would 
protect  Marjory  at  any  cost.  She  must  see  this 
Christopher  Burke,  this  unknown  equation  in 
Marjory's  life,  this  man  who  had  so  inoppor- 


196  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

tunely  risen  from  the  dead.  Possibly,  yes  pro 
bably,  their  meeting  would  result  in  his  depar 
ture  for  parts  unknown,  and  Marjory  should 
never  know  of  his  return  and -existence. 

"  There  must  be  an  interference  of  Provi 
dence  in  this  matter,  and  I  must  constitute 
myself  a  providence,"  she  said  to  herself,  smil 
ing  as  she  turned  into  the  house,  and  went  di 
rectly  to  the  store-room  for  her  little  travelling 
trunk,  which  she  carried  to  her  own  apartment. 
Having  laid  out  the  necessaries  for  a  short 
journey,  and  made  certain  entries  in  her  account 
books,  she  bethought  her  of  several  letters  of  a 
business  nature,  which  it  were  wisest  for  her  to 
despatch  on  the  morrow.  One  of  them  was  in 
regard  to  placing  Marjory  in  a  girls'  school  not 
far  from  Happy  Valley.  She  had  only  hastened 
an  intended  journey  ;  her  family  were  accus 
tomed  to  her  sudden  and  unexplained  flights. 
In  an  hour's  time  the  idea  of  the  journey  had 
become  familiar  to  her,  as  even  the  meeting 
with  Christopher  Burke  and  despatching  him 
from  Marjory's  future  entirely.  In  her  absorp 
tion  of  writing  out  directions  for  Phil  in  certain 
legal  and  domestic  matters  she  had  not  noted 
the  increasing  fury  of  the  sudden  storm.  The 


FROM  THE  DEAD.  197 

panic-stricken  crowd  from  the  camp  ground 
were  pouring  in  at  her  door  before  she  began 
to  realize  what  a  wild  night  it  was,  and  that 
Annie  Burke  was  flitting  about  the  wide 
landing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Those 
who  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  shrill  ecstatic 
cry,  saw  a  woman  in  white,  her  long  hair 
unbound,  leaning  over  the  baluster  rail  with 
distended  eyes  trying  to  gain  an  answer  from 
the  babel  below. 

"  Is  he  coming?  Is  he  coming?  Tell  him  I 
am  here,  and  waiting  for  him.  I  knew  he 
would  come  !  I  knew  he  would." 

Had  Priscilla  Ottoway  foreseen  the  events  of 
the  night,  Dennis  Cameron  had  carried  another 
letter  to  the  post-office.  Priscilla  Ottoway 
hardly  remembered  what  she  had  written,  and 
bound  herself  to  do  on  the  morrow,  until  having 
given  up  her  baby  charge,  she  found  herself 
alone  in  her  room  again,  her  guests  having  gone 
to  breakfast.  There  was  the  little  trunk  ;  yes, 
she  would  go.  She  must  escape  this  fearful 
confusion,  intrusion,  and  prevent  if  possible 
what  would  follow  the  arrival  of  Christopher 
Burke  upon  the  scene.  Phil  and  America  were 
equal  to  the  task  of  restoring  quiet  to  the  old 


198  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

house.  The  lease  of  the  camp  ground  termi 
nated  that  very  day.  Phil  would  see  that  the 
premises  were  clear.  All  would  be  over  when 
she  came  home.  She  was  finishing  packing  her 
trunk  when  America  came  in,  dumb  with  indig 
nation.  She  had  been  called  "  Sister  America  ", 
and  some  of  the  company  had  insisted  on  her 
sitting  down  at  the  table  with  them. 

"  I  jes'  shet  de  doah  on  waitin'  on  no  sech 
trash.  Kawn  bread  and  bacon  is  good  nuff  for 
dem." 

"  Cheer  up,  mammy.  Send  Miss  Marjory  to 
me,  please." 

But  Miss  Marjory  had  "  gone  away  on  Nan 
to  be  shuah,  and  Miss  Marjory  was  clean 
tuckered  out,"  and  if  somebody  didn't  take 
"some  'sponsibility  'foah  long  "  they'd  all  be 
set  out  in  de  road  and  the  camp  meetin'  would 
be  in  Miss  Prissy 's  pariah.  She  never  heard 
of  such  doin's  down  in  Kentucky.  The 
Buckinridges  never  let  such  a  raft  into  their 
house.  She  believed  it  had  all  come  long  of 
that  Sam  Buckinridge.  She  knew  Mars  Sam. 
She  knew  every  one  of  those  Buckinridges. 

She  stood  motionless,  her  wide  back  firmly 
planted  against  the  closed  door,  the  beads  of 


FROM  THE  DEAD.  199 

her  gorgeous  necklace  rising  and  falling  upon 
her  heaving  bosom. 

"  I  am  glad  Marjory  has  gone  for  a  ride,  I 
hope  she  will  go  to  the  Hermitage  and  stay 
there  until  night." 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  looking  up  half  smil 
ing  into  the  sullen  eyes,  so  strangely  blind  to 
what  her  mistress  was  doing,  the  little  trunk, 
the  signs  of  her  going  away.  "  Somebody  has 
got  to  have  some  'sponsibility  around  here  for  the 
next  week,  America.  Don't  you  see  I  am  get 
ting  ready  to  go  away  ?  " 

Very  slowly  and  without  changing  a  muscle 
America  became  conscious  of  what  was  taking 
place.  She  looked  at  the  trunk  with  stolid 
composure. 

"  Does  Mars  Sam  know  yer  gwine  ?  " 

"  No,  no  one  knows  of  it  yet,  only  you, 
America,"  shutting  down  the  trunk  lid,  and 
snapping  the  clasps.  "  I  shall  be  back  by  the 
time  you  have  everything  in  order  again. 
This  is  the  last  camp  meeting." 

"  I  'spects  Miss  Annie  '11  be  pow'ful  hard  to 
manage." 

"  Not  when  everybody  is  gone,  and  you  must 
see  that  the  house  is  clear  to-night." 


200  7 'HE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

America  threw  back  her  head,  her  broad  nos 
trils  dilating. 

"  I'll  do  jes  as  ye  sez,  Miss  Prissy,  but  when 
Miss  Annie  takes  de  bit,  ye  know  !  " 

"  She  will  be  quiet  in  a  few  days,  I  hope," 
her  voice  belieing  her  words.  "  You  must  be  firm 
with  her,  or  you  will  lose  your  baby,  America." 

But  the  old  mammy  was  thinking  of  some 
thing  else.  Her  heavy  lidded  eyes  were  seem 
ingly  absorbed  in  something  mysterious  on  the 
outermost  hill  encircling  the  wide  valley. 

"Is  yo'  eyes  shet,  Miss  Prissy?  Don'  ye 
see  clar  nuff  dat  Miss  Annie  is  gwine  ?  an'  dat 
Miss  Margie  is  gwine,  an'  dat  de  debbil  is  at 
de  bottom  of  ebery  ting  since  Sam  Buckin- 
ridge  com'  roun*  ?  " 

"  Hush,  America,  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

"Don'  I?"  her  dull  eyes  gleaming,  "don' I 
know  some  tings  de  rest  of  you  uns  nebber 
heahs  'bout?  I  don'  count  much  on  de  Lawd. 
He  let  'em  take  my  chillcn,  let  de  debbil  hab 
his  way  ebery  time,  jes  as  'e  allus  does.  Dis 
niggah  don't  shet  up  'er  eyes  like  ole  Merit 
dar,  an'  go  stumblin'  roun'  sayin'  de  angels  is  a 
leadin'  me."  A  long  portentous  'silence.  "  I 


FROM  THE  DEAD.  20 1 

wants  my  free  papers,  Miss  Prissy.  Don'  you 
go  away  wid  out  gibbin  me  dem.  ' 

Priscilla  Ottoway's  face  was  shadowed  with 
.deep  concern.  She  had  learned  to  value  Amer 
ica's  quick  intuition,  to  regard  her  as  a  seer, 
and  her  trust  in  her  prophecies  had  seldom  been 
at  fault. 

"  You  are  as  safe,  America,  as  if  you  had  your 
free  papers.  You  can  trust  Mr.  Breckinridge, 
and  surely  you  can  trust  me." 

America  clutched  fiercely  at  her  sleeve  with 
the  strong  fingers  of  her  tight  folded  arms. 
Her  hoarse  mumbling  was  incoherent  at  first, 
but  her  voice  rose  steadily  and  strong. 

"  Somefin's  comin',  comin'  right  along.  Didn't 
I  heah  de  bloodhouns  las'  night,  an'  my  chil- 
len  cryin'  ?  I  know  wat  dat  means,  no  use  splan- 
in'  dat,"  with  a  significant  movement  of  her 
right  hand  amid  the  ample  folds  of  her  gay  ker 
chief.  "  Mars  Sam  ain't  hangin'  roun'  heah  for 
nufftn.  Merit's  gwine  ter  follah  him  off  like  a 
puppy,  dat's  jes  wot  Merit's  good  fo'.  Dat  isn't 
de  ole  mammy,"  her  teeth  gleaming  in  her 
frightful  smile.  "  When  I  follahs  Mars  Sam, 
see,  dis  yeah — "  and  she  drew  out  a  knife,  hold 
ing  it  up  triumphantly. 


202  THE  MIDNIGH  T  CR  Y. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  confounded. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  America." 

America  measured  her  with  her  eyes,  nearly 
closed,  but  made  no  sign  of  obedience,  then  hid 
the  knife  under  her  kerchief  again  with  a  dogged 
determination  Priscilla  Ottoway  would  not  deal 
with.  She  was  considering  the  matter  of  the 
free  papers,  however,  in  a  new  light,  and  Amer 
ica  closely  watching  her,  silently  awaited  her 
decision. 

"  I  will  settle  the  matter  before  I  go  away," 
she  said  at  last.  "  You  may  send  Mr.  Breckin- 
ridge  to  me  at  once." 

"  I've  'lowed  to  pay  for  Merit  mysef,"  and 
the  ole  mammy's  composure  was  as  perfect  as 
if  she  were  selling  one  of  her  fox  hound  pup 
pies.  "  Heah's  five  hundred  dollahs,"  bringing 
a  leathern  bag  from  under  her  petticoat.  "  De 
res'  will  be  comin'  in  soon.  Mars  Phil  says  he'll 
help  me  to  somefin,  an'  he'se  gwine  ter  raise 
our  wages,  an'  don't  yer  be  'fraid  of  our  dyin' 
'foah  it's  paid  up.  I'se  gwine  ter  be  Merit's 
massar  myself.  Den  we'll  see  about  dis  yeah 
Mars  Sam." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   HANDMAID   OF  THE    LORD. 

ANNIE  BURKE'S  appearance  in  the  break 
fast  room  that  morning,  was  the  signal 
for  an  outburst  of  rapturous  ejaculation,  Elder 
Stiggins  dropping  his  buttered  muffin  to  fall 
upon  his  knees,  the  rest  of  the  company  follow 
ing  his  example.  Then  a  detailed  account  of  the 
miraculous  event  was  given,  Elder  Stiggins 
laboring  under  the  impression,  seemingly,  that 
he  was  proclaiming  the  same  not  only  to  an 
astounded  world  but  the  universe  generally. 

Annie  Burke  knelt  with  the  rest  unnoting  the 
absence  of  Priscilla  Ottoway,  and  Marjory,  and 
even  America's  withdrawal  from  the  table.  Her 
voice  was  shrill  and  tremulous,  her  cheek  glow 
ing  and  paling  with  the  fitful  flame  in  her  dila 
ted  eyes,  but  something,  call  it  what  you  will, 
had  vitalized  her  paralyzed  will,  and  she  was 
something  more  than  the  weak,  passive  subject 


204  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

of  the  stony  wills  controlling  her.  Quickened 
by  a  sense  of  her  conspicuous  uplifting  before 
an  unbelieving  world,  she  was  rapidly  becom 
ing  more  conscious  of  her  power  on  those  whose 
reverence  affected  her  as  a  stimulant,  a  tonic, 
permanent  in  its  effects  at  least,  as  the  excite 
ment  of  the  fanaticism  generating  it. 

"  It  is  a  fever  that  must  run  its  course,"  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway  was  saying  to  herself  as  she 
watched  her  from  her  window  that  morning, 
when  the  company  had  passed  out  from  the 
breakfast-room  into  the  glorious  sunlight,  and 
might  be  seen  ranged  along  each  side  of  the 
drive-way  watching  Annie  Burke  as  she  walked 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Sister  Phoebe,  and  heard 
them  saying  that  the  Lord  in  the  whirl  »vind 
of  his  power — a  wind  like  that  of  the  Pente 
cost  of  old — had  given  unto  them  a  sign  of  his 
presence  and  power. 

She  was  anticipating  the  interview  with  Sam 
uel  Breckinridge.  He  must  give  her  the  free 
papers.  Then  there  was  the  meeting  with 
Christopher  Burke,  and  the  release  for  Marjory. 
What  a  bargainer  in  flesh  and  blood  she  had 
become. 

She  was  turning  from  the  window,  comfort- 


THE  HANDMAID  OF  THE  LORD.          205 

ing  herself  that  by  noon,  at  the  latest,  her 
grounds  would  be  clear  of  the  intruders,  when 
she  saw  some  one  approaching  the  house  by  the 
narrow  foot-path  through  the  orchard  :  a  tall 
stately  woman,  seemingly  lost  in  meditation  as 
she  walked  slowly  through  the  dewy  grass,  un 
mindful  of  wet  feet  or  bedraggled  skirts. 
Screened  from  the  company  in  front  of  the 
house  by  the  intervening  shrubbery,  Priscilla 
Ottoway  had  seen  her  stop  short  when  the 
sound  of  voices  struck  her  ear,  and  turn  as  if  to 
flee  from  the  spot.  Then  she  had  crossed  her 
arms  serenely,  as  if  in  submission,  had  stood 
for  a  moment  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sky 
above  her,  a  smile  slowly  dawning  upon  her 
weary  face,  her  soul  evidently  passing  into 
communion  with  the  unseen. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  recognized  her  at  once,  and 
prepared  to  receive  Letitia  Barkenstone,  by 
first  subjecting  her  impulses  to  an  undefined 
chilling  process,  a  cold  dissection  of  the  germs 
of  admiration  called  forth  by  that  first  sight  of 
the  enthusiast. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  meeting  for  either  of 
them,  notwithstanding  Samuel  Breckinridge  did 
all  that  sprightly  affability  on  his  part  could  do 


206  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

to  dispel  the  constraint  of  the  interview.  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway  was  cold  and  reticent ;  Letitia 
Barkenstone  abstracted,  lost  in  an  ecstatic  iso 
lation  that  the  glacial  atmosphere  of  her  host 
could  not  penetrate.  Priscilla  Ottoway  had 
not  advanced  a  step  to  meet  Letitia  Barken 
stone,  had  not  even  extended  her  hand,  but 
had  scrutinized  her  with  her  challenging  cold 
gaze.  Letitia  Barkenstone  had  been  utterly 
oblivious  of  the  social  temperature  :  it  may  be 
doubted  if  she  could  have  told  what  manner  of 
woman  Priscilla  Ottoway  was  like,  when  she 
hurried  towards  her  with  outstretched  hands 
and  actually  kissed  her  upon  the  cheek  ;  Sam 
uel  Breckinridge  witnessing  the  salute  and  the 
dumb  amazement  with  which  it  was  received, 
as  well  as  the  blindness  of  the  giver,  with  a  hu 
morous  twinkle  of  his  restless  eyes. 

"  Behold  in  me,  Sister  Ottoway,  the  humble 
handmaid  of  the  Lord."  Alas  for  the  bedrag 
gled  skirts  and  bonnet  awry.  "  I  came  to 
thank  you  in  behalf  of  His  saints  for  the  city 
of  refuge  your  house  has  been  unto  them.  The 
Lord  will  remember  the  corn  and  the  wine  you 
have  outpoured  for  His  children.  All  the  ends 
of  the  earth  shall  hear  and  rejoice  in  the  won- 


THE  HANDMAID  OF  THE  LORD.          207 

derful  outpouring  of  His  favor  upon  your  house 
hold  last  night,  in  the  sign  of  His  presence, 
making  your  lame  to  leap  as  a  hart,  your  impo 
tent  folk—" 

"  Nonsense,"  thrust  in  Priscilla  Ottoway. 

"Scoff not  at  the  Lord's  doings,  so  marvel 
lous  in  our  eyes."  Had  she  seen  Priscilla  Otto- 
way  at  all,  or  was  she  speaking  to  an  unseen, 
multitude  on  a  plane  below  her,  those  hungry 
souls  forever  hemming  her  in  ?  "  In  the  wilder 
ness  have  the  waters  gushed  forth.  To  them 
that  called  not  upon  the  Lord  hath  He  appeared 
on  the  wings  of  healing." 

"  If  you  will  be  seated  a  moment,"  Priscilla 
Ottoway  had  broken  in,  as  she  was  accustomed 
to  curtail  garrulous  Peggy  Cameron's  flow  of 
speech,  "  I  can  soon  attend  to  the  trifling  busi 
ness  you  would  have  settled  this  morning."  She 
moved  promptly,  and  without  a  look  at  her 
visitor,  who  was  becoming  conscious  of  the 
chill  of  her  reception,  to  her  writing  desk, 
where  she  began  carefully  looking  over  a  pack 
age  of  papers.  "  The  lease  for  the  camp  ground 
expired  this  morning,"  she  said  curtly,  "  and 
nothing  must  prevent  the  removal  of  the  big 
tent  before  to-morrow,"  indicating  by  her  man- 


208  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

ner  that  having  so  said,  her  business  with  Miss 
Barkenstone  was  at  an  end. 

"  Miss  Barkenstone  came  to  ask  a  favor  of 
you  this  morning,"  Sam  interposed  with  charm 
ing  grace,  pulling  hard  upon  his  mustache,  as 
he  drew  close  to  Priscilla  Ottoway's  side,  and 
managed  to  confide  to  her  quick  ear,  "  Leave 
me  alone  with  her  a  moment,  I  will  secure  the 
free  papers,"  adding  in  a  louder  voice,  recalling 
Letitia  Barkenstone  from  a  trance-like  revery, 
"  I  wish,  ladies,  that  you  might  have  met  under 
different  circumstances,"  whereupon  they  ex 
changed  quick  guarded  glances,  and  poor  Sam 
was  more  uncomfortable  than  before. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  withdrew  at  Sam's  request, 
leaving  him  alone  with  his  sister.  She  was 
soon  recalled,  something  in  Samuel  Breckin- 
ridge's  voice  heralding  a  victory  for  him  at 
least.  Letitia  Barkenstone  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  excitedly,  Sam  mending  a 
quill  pen  with  infinitesimal  pains. 

"  Will  Miss  Ottoway  please  read  this  paper  ?  " 
he  asked,  indicating  the  sheet  upon  the  table,  the 
ink  not  yet  dry.  "  It  has  been  hastily  drawn 
up,  but  it  will  hold,  until  it  can  be  submitted  to 
legal  authority." 


THE  HANDMAID  OF  THE  LORD.  209 

"  If  my  brother  will  but  believe,"  Letitia 
Barkenstone  was  saying  as  if  to  herself  and  in 
self-justification,  "my  worldly  goods  I  would 
count  as  dross.  Lest  through  my  lack  of 
faith  he  should  not  lay  hold  on  the  promises, 
let  my  faith  be  tested,  yea  made  to  pass  through 
the  fire.  He  will  come.  My  confidence  in 
His  words  shall  not  have  been  in  vain.  Is  it 
for  naught  that  He  manifests  himself  so  mar 
vellously  beneath  this  roof,  that  He  adds  sign 
to  sign  ?  " 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  slowly  reading  the 
document  aloud. 

"  This  is  to  certify,  that  I,  Letitia  Barken 
stone,  of  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  do  sol 
emnly  promise  to  give  to  my  half-brother,  Sam 
uel  Ashland  Breckinridge,  or  to  Priscilla  Otto- 
way  or  heirs,  on  the  first  day  of  December,  the 
year  of  our  Lord  eigJitecn  hundred  and  forty-four, 
the  sum  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars,  upon 
the  condition  that  the  camp  ground  belonging 
to  Priscilla  Ottoway  remain  in  the  possession 
of  Letitia  Barkenstone  until  October  31,  1844. 
"(Signed)  LETITIA  BARKENSTONE." 

"But  no,"  said  Priscilla  Ottoway  emphatic 
ally,  frowning  upon  Sam  as  she  threw  the  paper 


2 1 o  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

aside,  "  I  will  not  have  them  here  a  day 
longer." 

He  drew  her  into  the  passage,  before  she 
could  say  more. 

"  They  will  remain  in  your  near  neighbor 
hood  if  driven  from  your  grounds,"  he  said  ; 
"  here  are  the  free  papers,  signed.  Yes,  I  told  her 
about  the  slaves,  she  said  their  year  of  jubilee 
had  come,  that  even  if  I  sent  them  back  to 
Kentucky  their  bondage  would  soon  be  over. 
It  was  the  test  of  her  faith  that  time  would 
last  beyond  October,  that  secured  that  paper. 
She  will  squander  every  penny  of  her  fortune 
if  restraint  is  not  put  upon  her  by  some  one. 
This  is  a  part  of  my  plan  for  saving  some 
thing  from  the  wreck." 

Letitia  Barkenstone  was  kneeling  in  prayer 
when  they  re-entered  the  room.  They  waited 
in  silence  until  she  rose,  the  sweet  serenity  of 
her  face  impressing  Priscilla  Ottoway  deeply. 
Upon  Sam  asking  her  if  he  might  read  the  doc 
ument  to  a  selected  few  of  the  company  assem 
bled  in  the  parlor,  making  them  witnesses 
of  her  signing  the  same,  she  named  two  persons 
as  witnesses,  agreeing  with  him  that  it  was  best 
to  keep  the  matter  from  the  public  generally. 


THE  HANDMAID  OF  7" HE  LORD.  211 

#.#$«.#* 

Noon  came  and  passed,  but  Marjory  did  not 
return.  Before  leaving  for  the  village  where 
she  was  to  take  the  afternoon  stage  Priscilla 
Ottoway  wrote  to  her  as  follows : 

"  I  shall  write  you  from  Happy  Valley, 
perhaps  send  for  you  to  come  to  me.  If  you  do 
not  get  a  letter  at  once  do  not  be  disturbed. 
Why  not  accept  Mrs.  Wardell's  invitation  and 
spend  a  few  days  at  the  Hermitage?  Your 
mother  will  insist  upon  leaving  with  those  people. 
Don't  let  that  trouble  you.  '  This  too  shall  pass 
away.' ' 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

BEFOGGED. 

were  stirring  times  for  mine  host  of 
J_  the  village  inn.  What  with  Livingston 
County  mass  meetings — it  was  the  fall  of  the 
memorable  Jimmy  Polk  and  Henry  Clay  cam 
paign — the  Millerite  camp  meeting,  and  Mrs. 
Wardell's  guests,  he  had  little  leisure  for  study 
ing  the  fundamental  theories  of  Texas  Annex 
ation,  or  the  correct  interpretation  of  unfulfilled 
prophecy.  If  the  world  were  to  end  on  the 
tenth  day  of  that  seventh  month,  he  must  make 
the  most  of  the  interim.  One  thing  he  knew  for 
a  certainty :  Father  Miller  and  the  political  tur 
moil  were  sweeping  the  dollars  into  his  till,  and 
so  he  might  be  forgiven  for  refusing  to  scoff  at 
the  one,  or  make  himself  an  antagonist  of  either 
party.  His  broad  piazza,  commanded  the  vil 
lage  common,  and  as  far  as  he  had  anything  to 
say,  was  a  free  platform  for  anything  that  drew 


BEFOGGED.  213 

a  crowd.  Garrison  or  Calhoun — Millerism  or 
Mesmerism — it  was  all  the  same  to  him.  He 
only  dreaded  the  reaction  sure  to  follow  the 
excitement. 

"  Turned  ye  out  of  house  and  home,  did 
they ! "  was  his  effervescent  greeting  of  Pris- 
cillo  Ottoway  that  afternoon,  when  she  called 
for  a  quiet  room  where  she  might  wait  for  the 
packet  stage.  "  I've  bin  tellin'  the  folks  how 
they  must  have  come  down  on  ye  like  grass 
hoppers.  How  they  did  streak  it,  though ! 
Lucky  for  'em,  ye  let  'em  in  at  all.  Your  big 
dogs  couldn't  have  bin  roun'  I  reckon." 

Considering  they  were  old  neighbors  and  that 
he  had  never  had  such  an  opportunity  for  a  bit 
of  conversation  with  Miss  Ottoway,  he  thought 
her  brief  explanation  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
dogs  a  discouraging  response  to  his  cordial 
effort  at  acquaintance.  She  must  be  weighed 
down  with  some  great  trouble,  he  thought, 
something  he  could  lighten  without  doubt  if 
she  would  seek  his  advice,  or,  after  the  passive 
habit  of  most  of  the  villagers,  consent  to  receive 
it  unasked. 

It  took  a  moment  for  him  to  recover  his 
equilibrium,  upon  her  curt  interruption  of  his 


2f4  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

effusive  praise  of  her  dogs,  their  breed  and 
beauty.  She  renewed  her  request  for  a  quiet 
room  where  she  might  wait  for  the  stage. 

"  We're  purty  full,  Miss  Otterway,  fuller  nor 
we  kin  hoi',"  picking  up  her  bag  notwithstand 
ing,  and  preceding  her  along  the  passage,  rais 
ing  his  voice  in  proportion  to  his  ascent  of  the 
steep  stairs.  "  But  I'm  going  to  give  you  a 
room,  the  best  room  in  the  house.  I  never 
turn  out  an  old  neighbor,  mind  ye.  Praps 
now,"  throwing  open  a  door  as  if  bowing  to  an 
admiring  constituency  within,  stopping  on  the 
threshold  to  continue  his  harangue,  his  broad 
back  preventing  a  glimpse  of  the  interior, 
"  praps  now  this  will  suit  ye  ?  You  can  look 
right  over  to  the  meetin'  house  by  and  by  and 
hear  the  Whig  speakin'  if  the  loco  focos  don't 
set  their  brass  band  a  goin',  as  I  hear  tell  they 
mean  ter." 

"  The  room  will  do  very  well." 

Thereupon  he  marched  forward  triumph- 
antly,  threw  back  the  blinds,  and  opened  a  door 
upon  the  board  upper  piazza.,  a  very  bower 
under  the  great  elms. 

"  Now  isn't  that  a  purty  picture  ?  "  his  finger 
indicating  the  aperture  in  the  leafage  through 


BEFOGGED.  215 

which  she  saw,  "  the  old  house  in  the  valley  " 
thrilling  her  like  the  gaze  of  a  living  face. 
"  Some  folks  cum  up  here  just  to  look  off 
from  this  piazzer.  Yed  oughter  hear  some 
English  folks  I  hed  'ere  this  summer  go  on 
about  that  voo,  and  all  the  questions  they  asked 
about  you  over  there  in  the  meader.  Now  I 
shall  have  something  to  tell  'em.  There  never 
was  anybody  sot  up  with  a  mirakul  in  these 
parts  before,  unless— 

Priscilla  Ottoway  evaded  the  reminiscence 
by  a  rather  imperious  request  for  a  cup  of  tea. 
Once  alone,  she  sat  down  in  the  embowered 
corner  of  the  piazza,  and  wearily  closed  her 
eyes,  and  the  old  house  seemed  watching  her, 
to  have  her  under  its  mysterious  care. 

On  the  grass  plot  below  a  company  of  gentle 
men,  Mrs.  Wardell's  guests  of  the  evening 
before,  were  smoking  their  after  dinner  cigars. 
Had  Priscilla  Ottoway  cared  to  listen  to  their 
conversation,  she  could  have  learned  that  Doc 
tor  and  Mrs.  Wardell  had  been  summoned  to 
New  York  not  many  hours  before  to  attend  the 
bedside  of  a  dying  relative,  and  that  this  party, 
who  had  expected  to  spend  several  days  at  the 
Hermitage  had  been  forced  by  their  sudden 


2 1 6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

departure,  and  that  of  Dan  and  Kate  McVicar 
as  well,  to  recast  their  plans  for  a  holiday.  She 
would  have  recognized  Dan's  voice  when  he 
stopped  a  moment  to  chat  with  them,  to 
deliver  Mrs.  Wardell's  last  message  that  they 
should  not  leave  the  Genesee  Valley  without 
seeing  the  wild  ravine  at  Portage,  and  the 
charming  inland  lakes,  and  before  he  was  fairly 
out  of  hearing  she  would  have  heard  the  stout 
elderly  man  whose  mental  energies  seemed  con 
centrated  on  devious  devices  for  balancing  his 
ebony  cane,  since  he  had  tossed  away  a  half 
smoked  cigar,  saying  in  a  summarizing  way  ; 
"Well,  we  can  say  this  for  him,  he  isn't  a 

Prig." 

"  Consider,  how  narrow  his  escape,"  said  a 
drawling  lisping  smoker,  who  seemed  only  half 
conscious  of  the  meaning  of  the  laughter  his 
response  evoked. 

"  It  won't  do  to  pronounce  upon  Dan  until 
he's  finished,"  continued  the  first  speaker.  "A 
trifle  more  ecclesiasticism  would  spoil  him  com 
pletely." 

They  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep  upon  that. 
Then  some  one  was  drowsily  asking :  "  Did 
you  hear  that  Millerite  preacher  this  morning  ? 


BEFOGGED.  217 

that  man  with  the  chart  ?  '  How  can  you 
shut  your  eyes  to  the  signs  of  the  times  ?  '  said 
he,  '  and  dance  on  the  brink  of  destruction  ? 
Do  you  know  that  fighting  is  going  on  between 
the  French  and  the  Moors?  that  war  embers 
are  fanning  in  Tahiti,  and  that  a  mob  is  organ 
izing  among  the  sailors  of  Canton?'  ' 

At  this  they  laughed  hilariously. 

Priscilla  Ottoway  was  by  this  time  uncon 
sciously  listening  to  the  conversation,  or  to 
such  snatches  of  it  as  she  could  hear  without 
effort. 

"  What  if  Sam  Breckinridge  comes  back 
with  a  chart  and  an  ascension  robe?  He  ought 
to  preach  a  good  sermon  on  the  last  trump" 
At  this  they  laughed  louder  than  before. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No.  The  landlord  says  he  was  off  at  day 
break  on  some  business  for  that  queer  sister  of 
his.  Magnificent  woman!  Never  saw  anything 
better  on  the  stage." 

The  landlord  came  in  with  her  supper  just 
then,  and  having  spread  it  upon  a  little  table 
beside  her  on  the  piazza,  essayed  somewhat 
timorously  to  renew  his  effort  at  conversation. 

"  That  girl  of  your'n  jes  rode  by  here  on  that 


2 1 8  THE  MIDNJGH  T  CR  Y. 

big  black  mare  of  hers.  She  was  goin'  like  the 
wind,  and  headed  straight  fur  hum.  She  cleared 
that  meder  fence  as  she  allers  does,  and  I 
allers  holds  my  breath  when  I  sees  her  do 
it. 

"  Hope  you  ain't  gettin'  lonesome  up  here  all 
alone.  The  band  will  make  things  cheerfuller 
by-and-by,  and  Ted  Hosmer's  comin'  up  from 
Jerry's  with  a  brace  of  coons  in  a  cage.  He's 
goin'  to  put  'em  up  on  the  loco-focos  pole. 
Bill  Sanders  has  heard  about  it  and  he  has 
brought  a  monkey.  Bill  Sanders  is  a  Whig,  you 
know.  You  can't  see  much  up  here,  the  trees 
are  so  thick,  but  by'm-by  you  must  come  down 
into  the  settin'-room." 

She  was  glad  to  be  alone  again,  and  to  know 
that  Marjory  was  most  likely  at  home  by  that 

time. 

***** 

A  slow,  heavy  footstep  in  the  passage — one 
she  was  eagerly  waiting  to  hear,  and  she 
hastened  to  meet  Phil.  He  came  in  without 
speaking.  She  led  him  out  upon  the  piazza. 
His  eye  sought  the  old  house  at  once,  and 
rested  upon  it  with  softening  lustre.  What  a 
picture  of  peace  it  was,  the  great  chimney,  the 


BEFOGGED.  219 

wide  sloping  roof,  the  outlying  meadows,  and 
the  broad  fields  of  wheat  and  corn ! 

"  Cheer  up,  Phil.  The  free  papers  are  signed 
and  delivered.  There  has  been  no  trouble  in 
negotiating  Miss  Barkenstone's  note ;  Doctor 
Wardell  has  arranged  all  that.  But  what  has 
happened  at  home  since  I  left  ?  Was  the 
house  clear  ?  Had  Annie  consented  to  remain 
behind?" 

Little  by  little  he  told  his  story.  No,  the 
house  was  not  cleared,  and  he  could  not  say 
when  it  would  be  if  she  did  not  give  up  going 
away  for  the  present.  Letitia  Barkenstone 
was  there,  "  like  a  queen  on  her  throne,"  and 
no  one  was  so  devoted  to  her  as  Marjory. 
Samuel  Breckinridge  was  there  also.  Phil 
could  not  understand  why  they  should  keep 
open  house  for  all  creation.  That  farm, 
any  other,  would  never  be  big  enough  for  him 
and  Sam  Breckenridge.  Marjory  had  begged 
of  him  to  say  nothing  more  about  "  clearing 
the  house,"  now  that  her  Aunt  Prissy  was  gone, 
at  least  not  until  the  camp  ground  was  in  order 
again.  She  must  keep  her  mother  with  her  as 
long  as  she  could.  There  had  been  much  prayer 
and  exhortation  in  the  great  parlor,  and  nothing 


220  THE  M 'ID NIGHT  CRY. 

he  could  say  had  any  influence  upon  Marjory 
in  keeping  her  where  she  could  not  hear  Letitia 
Barkenstone.  America  of  course  was  in  no 
pleasant  mood.  She  had  even  threatened  to 
horsewhip  old  Merit  if  he  did  not  "  keepshet  of 
de  goin's-on."  What  Phil  considered  most 
unpardonable  in  Marjory  was  her  thankfulness 
that  her  Aunt  Prissy  had  gone  away  for  a  while. 
She  had  sent  a  message  bidding  her  have  no 
anxiety  about  her  in  her  absence ;  that  her 
departure  was  opportune. 

"  She  is  going  to  believe  all  this  stuff  they 
are  teaching  her,"  muttered  Phil.  "  She  more 
than  half  believes  it  now.  If  you  must  go,  why 
not  take  her  with  you — take  her  out  of  all 
this?" 

A  gray  pallor  overspread  Priscilla  Ottoway's 
cheek,  a  momentary  revelation  of  physical  pain  ; 
a  quick  pressure  of  her  hand  upon  her  heart. 
Then  she  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  looked  into 
his  condemning  eyes. 

"  I  must  not  let  you  misjudge  me,  my  boy. 
I  am  doing  my  best  for  Marjory.  I  have  not 
told  you  the  secret  cause  of  my  going  away:  I 
have  heard  from  Christopher  Burke.  I  am 
going  to  meet  him,  to  prevent  his  coming  here. 


BEFOGGED.  221 

He  has  turned  up  at  last,  and  a  Millerite 
preacher  at  that." 

"  The  devil  he  has !  "  ejaculated  Phil,  under 
his  breath,  snatching  his  hands  from  hers  and 
thrusting  them  deep  into  his  pockets. 

"  I  must  see  him  first,  then  I  can  tell  what  to 
do  next." 

Phil's  response  was  best  unnoted  ;  in  fact,  it 
was  unheard  by  Priscilla  Ottoway,  for  the  band 
on  the  CommQn  was  playing  uproariously,  and 
the  Whigs  were  having  high  carnival.  They 
went  inside,  and  she  drew  him  to  a  seat  upon 
the  sofa  beside  her. 

"  I  have  another  secret  for  you,  Phil."  Her 
low  voice  thrilled  him  strangely,  subdued  his 
rebellion.  "  I  am  under  the  care  of  a  physi 
cian." 

He  started   and  looked    incredulous. 

"  No,  Marjory  does  not  know.  She  must  not 
yet.  I  must  avoid  all  excitement.  My  safety 
is  in  quiet,  in  peace.  That  is  another  reason 
for  my  going  now.  No,  there  is  not  the 
slightest  danger  in  my  travelling  alone.  And  I 
have  a  strange  longing  to  go  back  once  more  to 
Happy  Valley." 

The  tears  were  streaming  down  his  cheeks  as 


222  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

she  told  him  calmly  of  all  she  had  planned  for 
his  future  and  Marjory's. 

The  farm  would  be  theirs,  of  course,  and  all 
that  she  had,  saving  the  provision  she  had  made 
for  Annie  and  Merit  and  America.  Christopher 
Burke's  return  might  necessitate  some  change 
in  her  will.  But  if  she  were  taken  away  before 
such  changes  as  she  specified  had  been  made, 
she  could  trust  him  to  carry  out  her  wishes. 

They  caught  the  sound  of  the  stage  horn. 

"  Stand  by  Marjory,  Phil,  whatever  happens. 
If  it  comes  to  sacrificing  my  interest  for  her 
happiness,  don't  hesitate.  You  will  hear  from 
me  soon  ;  but  if  you  do  not,  don't  be  distressed  ; 
all  will  come  out  right." 

Her  last  glimpse  of  him  was  from  the  stage 
coach  as  it  turned  out  of  the  main  street. 
There  he  stood,  just  where  she  had  left  him, 
still  looking  at  the  ground,  his  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WINNING  THE   GAME. 

THE  destruction  of  a  world,  the  annihilation 
of  matter,  the  discontinuance  of  material 
substance,  were  not  so  scientifically  unthinkable 
and  theologically  monstrous  to  the  mind  of 
man  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eighteen  hundred 
and  forty-four  as  they  are  to-day. 

For  a  time  the  Barley  Flats  camp  ground 
was  the  head-centre  of  the  spreading  fanaticism 
in  western  New  York.  The  big  tent  was  the 
attraction  of  believers  and  scoffers  alike.  The 
singing  and  shouting  of  the  multitude  could  be 
heard  at  a  great  distance  at  all  times  of  the  day 
and  night.  Many  of  the  most  popular  and 
thrilling  of  the  old  Millerite  hymns  were  taken 
from  the  orthodox  hymn-books.  Sung  by  the 
believers  in  the  Speedy  Coming,  under  the 
solemn  forest  trees  at  night,  they  had  a  meaning 
and  a  power  which  they  can  never  have  in  their 
present  use.  The  words  express  the  same 


224  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

ancient  expectation,  but  how  meaningless  they 
are  to  those  who  have  heard  them  uplifted  by 
the  followers  of  Father  Miller! 

Like  thistledown  on  a  whirlwind,  a  leaf  on 
a  strong  tide,  Marjory  had  been  swept  into  the 
vortex  of  excitement,  and  painfully  transformed. 
Her  strong  individuality  had  been  intensified, 
her  self-reliance  forced  into  an  aggressive 
heroism  through  her  zeal  for  the  conversion  of 
souls.  Her  healthy  independence  of  mind  had 
developed  into  a  defiant  fearlessness  of  op 
position,  a  braving  of  ridicule.  Had  she  not 
read  of  Jeanne  D'Arc  and  the  heroines  of  the 
Crusades?  She  thought  of  them  when  she 
rode  through  the  village  and  across  the  wide 
country,  scattering  "  the  gospel  of  the  king 
dom,"  proclaiming  in  her  earnest,  simple  way 
that  the  year  of  jubilee  had  come.  Men  were 
called  from  their  work  in  the  fields  by  her 
clarion-like  voice  and  urged  to  read  the  tracts 
she  gave  them.  Children  were  stopped  on  their 
way  to  school  to  hear  the  strange  tidings,  and 
tired  housekeepers  sat  down  on  their  doorsteps 
to  listen  to  the  message  she  brought,  the  words 
impressed  upon  their  memories  with  her  brave, 
beautiful  face,  her  firm,  quiet  mastery  of  her 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  225 

mettlesome  horse,  and  the  sullen-looking  fellow 
who  kept  close  beside  her,  quick  to  use  his 
whip  if  the  scoffer  presumed  upon  unseemly 
attack.  For  Phil,  who  had  ceased  to  oppose 
her,  made  no  pretension  of  believing  what  she 
taught,  and,  happily  for  her  defence,  was  un 
fettered  by  rules  of  Christian  forbearance.  She 
had  given  up  trying  to  make  a  convert  of  Phil. 
In  fact,  her  efforts  in  that  direction  had  not 
been  characterized  by  persistence.  Poor  child  ! 
Had  she  known  her  own  heart  she  would  have 
seen  that  she  was  glad  to  have  him  remain  as 
he  was;  but  she  did  plead  with  Victoria  Barry, 
ah,  so  fruitlessly  !  coming  off  from  the  contest 
hurt  and  humiliated. 

Victoria  Barry,  with  a  servant  or  two,  was 
staying  alone  at  the  Hermitage.  She  had  tried 
to  prevail  upon  Marjory  to  join  her,  and 
Samuel  Breckinridge,  who  had  become  the 
inseparable  attendant  upon  Letitia  Barken- 
stone,  favored  that  plan  in  opposition  to  his 
sister's  wishes,  which  of  course  prevailed. 
Samuel  Breckinridge  avoided  Marjory,  that  was 
plain.  The  change  in  her  affected  him  pain 
fully.  When  they  did  meet  she  felt  that  he 
was  pitying  her,  studying  all  she  said  and  did 


226  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

compassionately.  She  avoided  him  as  he  did 
her,  and  that  partly  on  Phil's  account.  Phil 
was  so  unreasonable  !  Nothing  Samuel  Breck- 
inridge  did  escaped  Phil's  eye. 

"  He  is  playing  a  game,  and  a  deep  one,"  he 
said  more  than  once  to  Marjory. 

Two  weeks  had  passed,  and  the  fact  that 
nothing  had  been  heard  from  Priscilla  Ottoway 
was  almost  unnoted  at  Barley  Flats,  in  the 
whirl  of  exciting  events. 

"  She  will  surely  come  to-morrow,"  Marjory 
would  say  each  night.  Her  mother  remained 
upon  the  camp  ground.  She,  to  please  Phil, 
spent  a  part  of  each  day  at  the  old  house. 

It  was  a  dry  and  tropical  August.  The  sun 
burnt  fields,  the  crisp,  dusty  leaves,  the  rattling 
reeds  along  the  dry  beds  of  the  valley  brooks, 
all  strengthened  the  faith  of  the  believers  in 
the  coming  conflagration,  in  the  reasonableness 
of  the  transforming  of  that  section,  at  least,  into 
ashes  to  be  trodden  under  the  soles  of  the  feet 
of  the  Lord's  anointed. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  those  burning  days, 
when  the  glorious  sunset  brought  scarcely  the 
ripple  of  a  reviving  breeze,  there  was  an  unusual 
increase  of  the  multitude  crowded  within  the 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  227 

big  tent.  Father  Miller  had  arrived,  the  ven 
erable,  palsy-shaken  old  man,  whose  Johannean 
humility  and  devout  sincerity  were  perhaps  the 
secret  of  his  wonderful  power. 

He  had  stood  upon  the  rude  platform,  the 
prophetical  charts  an  effective  background  to 
his  snowy  head  and  benign  countenance,  the 
vast  assembly  hushed  to  supernatural  stillness, 
as,  in  a  sweet  tremulous  voice,  he  gave  them  his 
farewell  assurance  of  his  confidence  in  the 
glorious  appearing,  his  unshaken  faith  that  the 
prophecies  of  the  Second  Coming  had  been  each 
and  all  fulfilled,  and  that  the  last  year  of  the 
world's  history  had  come.  Those  who  heard 
him  might  lack  faith  in  his  gospel,  but  never 
in  the  man.  He  believed  what  he  spake  unto 
the  world,  and  his  was  the  peace  and  joy  of 
believing,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  some  of  us 
that  in  such  a  faith  as  his  a  soul  could  have 
found  perfect  peace.  Bidding  them  a  loving 
farewell,  only  for  the  little  time  before  they 
should  all  be  caught  up  together  in  the  air, 
he  had  withdrawn,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  an 
evangelist,  the  overwrought  feeling  of  the  mul 
titude  finding  expression  in  singing,  as  one 
voice,  like  unto  the  sound  of  many  waters: 


228  THE  MIDNIGH  7 '  CR  Y. 

"  We  shall  all  with  Christ  appear, 
By-and-by,  when  He  comes     .     .     ' 

As  if  swept  into  their  presence  by  the  mighty 
tide  of  exalted  feeling,  Letitia  Barkenstone 
came  forward  upon  the  platform,  and  the  fren 
zied  outpouring  of  their  jubilant  anticipation 
was  hushed  at  once.  Never  had  they  seen  her 
when  her  face  shone  with  such  intense  illumin 
ation,  when  her  whole  being  seemed  so  trans 
figured,  her  voice  so  resonant  and  penetrating, 
as  from  the  seventh  heaven  of  seership  she 
portrayed  the  terrors  of  the  last  day. 

At  the  feet  of  the  tall  wooden  model  of 
Nebuchadnezzar's  image,  a  cunningly  devised 
illustration  of  the  passing  away  of  ancient 
kingdoms,  Samuel  Breckinridge  had  sat,  while 
she  was  speaking,  like  an  image  of  stone. 
Marjory,  who  had  been  watching  him,  saw  in 
his  face  the  foreshadowing  of  something  to 
come,  the  outcome  of  the  inner  struggle,  and 
wondered  if  his  conversion,  his  confession  of 
faith,  would  not  follow  his  sister's  words.  How 
could  he  hold  out  longer? 

"And  to  you  that  scoffing  say  we  do  not 
truly  believe  what  we  preach  unto  you,"  were 
her  closing  words,  "  what  more  can  we  do  than 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  229 

we  have  done  to  prove  unto  you  how  firmly 
our  feet  are  planted  upon  the  rock,  the  '  thus 
saith  the  Lord]  the  evidences  by  which  we 
were  to  know  when  the  end  should  be  ?  You 
say  we  do  not  truly  believe?  Oh,  would  it 
might  be  given  unto  me  to  convince  those 
doubting  our  sincerity,  that  we  do  believe  !  that 
we  have  no  ground  for  doubting  !  that  beyond 
the  tenth  day  of  the  seventh  month  we  can- 
not'Count  upon  a  day  of  our  Lord's  tarrying  !  " 

Samuel  Breckinridge  advanced  to  where  she 
was  standing  and  stood  quietly  beside  her,  as 
if  waiting  to  speak  with  her  or  to  the  audience 
when  she  had  done.  He  held  in  his  hand  a 
paper  that  had  the  appearance  of  a  legal  docu 
ment.  Becoming  conscious  of  his  presence,  she 
paused  and  looked  questioningly  at  him,  decid 
ing  at  once  that  the  moment  of  his  confession 
of  faith  had  come ;  that  he  was  about  to  declare 
that  faith  to  a  scoffing  world.  He  saw  the 
impression  from  which  she  was  about  to  resume 
speaking,  and  checked  her,  silenced  her  by  a 
gesture.  How  cold  he  seemed  after  her  impas 
sioned  fervor !  how  concentrated,  self  cen 
tred ! 

"  My  sister  Miss  Barkenstone  " — bowing  first 


230  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

to  her,  then  to  his  audience — "  did  not  know, 
when  she  expressed  the  wish,  that  she  might 
prove  to  you  her  faith  in  what  she  professes  to 
believe,  that  the  opportunity  would  be  given 
her  to-night,  and  that  now,  and  before  your 
eyes,  she  should  make  such  testimony. 
I  have  in  my  hand,"  and  he  held  the  paper 
high  over  his  head,  "  an  unsigned  deed,  con 
veying  to  me,  the  brother  of  Letitia  Barken- 
stone,  every  dollar  she  possesses  in  this  world, 
some  one  hundred  thousand  or  more  in  bonds 
and  real  estate,  all  she  has  not  spent  for  the 
spread  of  Father  Miller's  gospel,  to  be  made 
mine  by  her  signature ;  but  it  may  not  pass 
into  my  possession  until  after  the  tenth  day  of 
the  seventh  month  shall  have  passed  by.  The 
deed  makes  ample  allowance  for  a  '  tarrying 
time',''  a  faint  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  It  specifies 
that  upon  the  first  day  of  December  all  her 
worldly  possessions  shall  be  mine.  Her  sign 
ing  of  this  paper,  in  the  presence  of  you  her 
witnesses,  will  surely  convince  the  most  scepti 
cal  among  you  of  her  faith  that  the  end  of 
the  world  will  come  October  twenty-fifth,  and 
she  may  now  give  to  the  world  a  testi 
mony  of  faith  none  may  question." 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  231 

"  Sign  it  !  sign  it  !  "  rang  out  from  all  sides. 
She  was  not  hesitating,  as  she  stood  there,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  brother's  calm  face.  She 
was  striving  to  read  what  she  could  not,  and 
with  a  quick  movement  towards  the  table, 
whereon  he  had  spread  out  the  paper,  she  care 
fully  read  it,  smiled,  and  then  slowly  wrote  her 
signature,  holding  up  the  signed  document 
before  the  multitude. 

" '  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away,  but  His 
Word  shall  endure  forever,'  "  her  voice  rang  out 
clearly.  Then  turning  to  her  brother,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  document,  a  tremu 
lous  pathos  in  her  voice,  she  added  : 

"  Set  not  your  heart  upon  it,  Samuel.  Not 
one  farthing  of  this  filthy  lucre  will  ever  be 
yours.  The  day  that  cometh  will  have  burned 
it  up  long  before  the  first  day  of  next  December. 
Only  that  it  is  invested  as  it  is,  and  is  not 
easily  convertible  into  money,  every  dollar 
should  have  been  laid  on  the  Master's  altar 
before  this,  lest  the  burden  should  sink  my  soul 
to  perdition." 

In  the  wild  excitement  which  prevailed,  a 
babel  of  singing  and  prayer,  Annie  Burke  pass 
ing  into  a  trance  state,  revealing  to  the  im- 


232  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

mediate  circle  around  her  the  scenes  of  her 
beatific  vision,  Samuel  Breckinridge  laid  his 
hand  firmly  upon  his  sister's  arm  and  led  her 
from  the  platform  to  the  shadow  of  the  thick 
beeches,  some  distance  from  the  tent. 

"  That  singing  reminds  me,"  said  he,  as  they 
walked  away,  the  deed  safe  in  his  pocket,  her 
ejaculatory  thanksgivings  growing  fewer  and 
fainter,  "  of  the  clangorous  outcry  of  a  bar 
barous  host  at  the  gate  of  victory.  What  have 
you  in  common  with  this  horde,  Letitia?  " 

She  stopped  short,  breathing  with  difficulty, 
her  lips  giving  no  sound  when  she  struggled 
to  speak. 

"  Letitia,"  and  there  was  a  woman's  tender 
ness  in  his  voice,  and  she  felt  his  hand  tremble 
as  he  laid  it  upon  her  shoulder,  a  glistening 
drop  fell  upon  his  cheek,  "  let  us  remember 
that  the  same  mother  was  yours  and  mine  ; 
I  shall  not  forget  it.  Her  memory  is  my  law. 
Trust  me.  I  am  your  brother.  When  you 
signed  that  bond  you  made  yourself  penniless. 
I  shall  not  forget  that  I  am  your  brother,  your 
guardian.  I  am  going  at  once  to  Philadelphia 
to  look  after  your  affairs.  Good-bye."  She  did 
not  speak.  She  had  set  her  lips  firmly ;  her 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  233 

moment  of  weakness  was  gone ;  nor  did  she 
extend  her  hand  when  he  would  have  taken  it, 
and  for  once  she  was  at  loss  for  an  adequate 
Scriptural  curse. 

"  You  will  bless  me  for  what  I  did  to-night 
some  day,  Letitia, — when  '  the  day  '  shall  have 
gone  by.  Good-bye."  She  had  sealed  her  lips 
evidently,  under  a  vow  to  keep  silence  let  him 
say  what  he  would. 

"  Say  good-bye  to  that  poor  child  for  me, 
Letitia.  When  Miss  Ottoway  comes  home 
Marjory  will  be  cared  for.  Be  sure  and  tell 
her  I  left  her  with  many  wishes  for  her  happi 
ness.  Good-bye." 

She  dropped  upon  her  knees  when  he  was 
gone,  and  was  kneeling,  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands,  when  a  soft,  caressing  voice  startled  her 
as  from  a  sleep. 

"  Oh,  Marjory,  Marjory !  What  has  happened  ? 
Have  I  been  dreaming  ?  " 

"  They  are  asking  for  you  to  speak  again. 
When  you  signed  that  paper  so  many  believed 
who  have  been  holding  back  !  A  woman  has 
confessed  a  murder  she  committed  in  England 
seven  years  ago,*  and  a  rich  man  has  thrown  a 
*  Such  a  thing  happened  in  the  excitement. 


234  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

full  wallet  upon  the  platform,  and  another  has 
given  his  gold  watch,  and  many  of  the  women 
their  jewelry.  The  excitement  is  beyond  every 
thing,  and  they  are  asking  for  you." 

"  I  cannot  go  quite  yet,  my  child,"  holding 
Marjory  in  close  embrace.  "  What  if  we  have 
miscalculated,  and  I  am  penniless  !  oh,  Marjory! 
my  faith  wavers.  I  feel  like  one  stunned  by  a 
blow." 

Marjory  was  unprepared  for  such  weakness 
in  the  bulwark  of  her  confidence,  and  was  un 
dergoing  what  the  subalterns  of  the  greatest 
heroes  must  occasionally  experience  if  per 
mitted  intimacy  with  their  leaders,  revelations  of 
supineness  in  the  tent,  when  the  world  is  hoarse 
with  shouting  "  bravo  !  "  outside.  How  could 
she  inspire  Letitia  Barkenstone  ?  Surely  not 
by  telling  her  that  she  was  continually  haunted 
by  a  sickening  mistrust  that  possibly  their  mid 
night  cry  was  a  "  much  ado  about  nothing,"  after 
all.  If  Letitia  Barkenstone  were  beginning  to 
doubt — well,  she  wished  she  were  safe  at  home. 
Had  they  not  better  go  to  the  old  house  for 
the  night? 

"  But  the  day  will  not  go  by,  Marjory."  The 
rock  was  under  her  feet  again.  "  He  will  not 


WINNING  THE  GAME.  235 

lie.  He  hath  permitted  Satan  to  put  it  into 
the  heart  of  my  brother  to  entrap  me  in  this 
manner,  that  I  may'be  tried  as  by  fire." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  sign  it,"  said 
Marjory.  "  I  never  could  have  done  it.  But 
then  he  is  your  brother,  and  he  will  be  honor 
able.  He  thinks  we  are  crazy  fanatics,  and" — 
lowering  her  voice,  a  faint  ring  of  her  merry 
old  laughter  following  her  words — "  perhaps  we 
are." 

"  Marjory ! " 

"  One  can't  help  their  thoughts  sometimes," 
with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Get  thee  behind  her,  Satan ! "  and 
scarcely  had  she  uttered  the  words  when  from 
the  thicket  behind  them  a  form  emerged,  start 
ling  Marjory  into  a  low,  frightened  cry. 

"  Is  her  name  Marjory?  "  and  in  the  light  of 
the  tent  lamps  they  could  see  the  eager  expect 
ancy  in  the  strange  face,  the  unkempt  hair, 
and  long  ragged  beard,  the  bulging  carpet-bag, 
and  the  chart — a  Millerite  pilgrim,  and  as  such 
deserving  their  welcome.  "  I  am  looking  for 
Marjory  Burke.  Can  this  be  my  daughter? 
Does  she  remember  her  father?" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WINDS  OF  DOCTRINE. 

'T^HERE  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  Chris- 
X  topher  Burke's  experience,  the  story  ex 
plaining  his  long  absence  as  he  first  told  it  to  his 
little  family.  But  by  the  time  that  story  had 
been  made  to  harmonize  with  Annie  Burke's 
visions  and  to  fulfil  ancient  prophecy,  it  became 
marvellous  indeed. 

He  had  simply  borrowed  the  meeting  house 
fund,  confident  that  he  might  replace  it  upon 
his  return  from  New  York,  where  he  counted 
upon  the  temporary  assistance  of  his  kinsfolk. 
The  Burke  convention  had  been  a  failure.  A 
few  members  of  the  family  who  did  not  believe 
the  advertisement  in  the  London  Times  to  be  a 
trickster's  scheme  had  prevailed  upon  Christo 
pher  Burke  to  go  to  London  at  once  and  attend 
to  the  matter  himself.  They  would  forward 
money  when  needed.  He  had  but  three  hours 
in  which  to  make  his  decision.  He  sailed  from 


WINDS  OF  DOCTRINE.  237 

New  York,  bewildered  and  full  of  remorse. 
Annie  would  forgive  him,  however,  when  he 
returned  a  rich  man,  abundantly  able  to  wipe 
out  his  disgrace.  The  London  barristers  smiled 
at  his  presumption  in  addressing  them  without 
a  heavy  retainer.  They  drove  him  from  their 
offices.  He  begged  for  money  from  his  New  York 
cousins.  No  reply.  With  a  desperate  fatality 
for  securing  rebuffs,  even  insults,  he  hung 
around  the  Bank  of  England,  and  annoyed  the 
officials  until  the  police  placed  him  under 
surveillance.  He  plodded  wearily  on  foot  to 
find  the  Kentish  Burkes,  demanding  admit 
tance  at  the  doors  of  their  fine  country  houses 
in  the  name  of  an  American  cousin,  a  rightful 
inheritor  of  their  lands.  It  was  pitiful  to  see 
him  pleading  with  inexorable  servants  for 
admission,  wandering  among  the  old  graves  in 
old  church-yards — family  graves — shivering  in 
the  parish  churches,  where  he  copied  long  inscrip 
tions  from  memorial  tablets  and  entries  of 
musty  parish  registers,  every  link  he  could  find 
in  the  Burke  ancestral  chain.  Penniless  and  in 
despair  he  found  employment  at  last  as  under- 
gardener  on  the  estate  of  an  eccentric  old 
gentleman,  a  hypochondriac  hermit,  who,  having 


238  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

become  interested  in  the  teachings  of  William 
Miller,  chiefly  because  of  what  he  thought  the 
world  deserved  for  its  worthlessness,  found  a 
querulous  satisfaction  in  expounding  the  same 
to  the  wellspoken  man  hoeing  his  turnips  :  a 
man,  by  the  way,  who  surprised  him  by  his 
knowledge  of  Scripture,  and  who  was  at  once 
converted  to  Father  Miller's  teaching,  when 
permitted  to  study  those  teachings  in  his 
master's  library.  There  is  no  telling  what  the 
associate  students  might  have  done  for  the  con 
version  of  the  good  people  of  Kent,  had  not  the 
sudden  death  of  the  old  gentleman  sent  Chris 
topher  Burke  adrift  upon  the  world  again,  his 
carefully  hoarded  savings  barely  sufficient  to 
take  him  back  to  his  wife  and  child — to  whom 
he  would  have  returned  before,  but  that  he  had 
cause  for  believing  that  his  master  would  leave 
him  a  legacy.  And  why  had  he  not  written?  He 
had  never  had  the  heart,  the  courage,  to  write. 
He  had  expected  to  meet  Priscilla  Ottoway  at 
Happy  Valley.  What  wonder  that  he  had 
been  unwilling  to  wait  an  hour  longer  than  he 
thought  necessary !  Time  was  short.  He  had 
feared  the  trumpet  would  sound  before  he  was 
permitted  to  meet  his  wife  and  child,  and  warn 


WINDS  OF  DOCTRINE.  239 

them,  if  they  were  in  darkness,  of  what  was 
coming  upon  the  earth.  The  Lord  had  been 
very  good  to  him,  he  declared.  Blessed  were 
the  bitter  waters  of  Marah,  that  led  to  the 
wells  of  Elim.  Marjory's  heart  went  out  to 
him  at  once.  He  was  her  father,  the  father  she 
remembered  in  the  old  coffin  shop  in  The 
Hollow,  and  that  was  enough  for  Marjory. 

But  where  was  Priscilla  Ottoway  ? 

Christopher  Burke's  journey  from  Happy 
Valley,  where  he  had  failed  to  meet  her,  had 
been  one  of  detentions.  He  could  not  refrain 
from  stopping  to  proclaim  the  Midnight  Cry 
in  many  a  lonely  place  where  the  warning  had 
not  been  given.  There  was  nothing  alarming 
in  his  failing  to  see  her,  as  much  of  her  journey 
was  by  stage,  and  the  connections  were  depend 
ent  upon  uncertain  things.  Phil  was  more 
anxious  than  he  betrayed  to  any  one,  and  he 
comforted  himself  with  believing  that  she  was 
visiting  old  friends  and  would  be  home  on  each 
to-morrow. 

One  day  there  came  a  cry  for  the  big  tent 
from  a  Macedonia  some  eighty  miles  to  the 
westward — a  cry  so  clearly  a  command  from 
on  high  to  the  leaders  of  the  host,  that  the 


240  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

removal  was  made  at  once,  the  multitude  follow 
ing,  excepting  Letitia  Barkenstone  and  Chris 
topher  and  Annie  Burke.  They  had  been 
"called  "  to  hasten  to  the  Hollow  and  snatch,  if 
possible,  a  few  of  the  preacher's  old  flock  from 
the  impending  burning.  The  call  had  come  to 
Christopher  Burke  in  a  dream,  and  he  could 
hardly  wait  for  the  day-dawn  before  setting 
forth  on  his  return  to  a  people  he  had  desert 
ed  in  the  wilderness.  Did  they  revile  him, 
cast  the  past  in  his  teeth,  it  should  not  be 
written  against  him  that  he  had  not  striven  to 
make  atonement  for  that  past. 

It  was  Phil  that  prevented  Marjory  from 
going  with  them.  He  stoutly  opposed  it  and 
had  his  own  way  in  the  end.  She  simply 
should  not  go.  Aunt  Prissy  would  be  home 
on  the  morrow,  he  said,  as  he  aided  the  depart 
ure  of  the  others.  Marjory  must  stay,  and 
she  did. 

The  old-time  peace  enfolded  the  house  again. 
How  sweet  the  silence  down  on  the  camp 
ground,  the  roads  free  from  the  wagons  of  the 
pilgrims,  the  orchards  from  their  uncared- 
for  children !  The  nights  were  still  once  more, 
awfully  still,  thought  Marjory,  gazing  up  at 


WINDS  OF  DOCTRINE.  241 

the  heavens,  trembling  lest  there  should  be  "  a 
sign  "  vouchsafed  her.  In  the  lull,  the  reaction 
following  the  excitement,  she  was  like  one 
recovering  from  fever.  She  moved  about 
languidly,  said  little,  and  read  incessantly 
from  her  Bible.  She  would  have  hard  work  in 
proving  steadfast,  she  feared.  How  frightfully 
fast  the  days  went  by.  She  counted  the  hours 
with  sinking  heart. 

Victoria  Barry  came  often  to  see  her,  insist 
ing  on  her  going  for  long  drives,  when  she 
would  chatter  about  the  novels  she  was  reading, 
the  spicy  doings  of  the  villagers,  and  even  read 
to  her  the  pretty  things  the  papers  were  over 
laden  with,  stories  about  Millerites  and  their 
queer  delusions,  and  the  retorts  of  the  ungodly 
when  exhorted  to  repent.  Cousin  Vic  was  a 
pitiless  scoffer,  to  whom  the  destruction  of 
Jerusalem  and  even  the  Battle  of  Armageddon 
were  of  small  moment.  She  habitually  spoke  of 
Letitia  Barkenstone  as  Deborah  of  Armaged 
don.  Her  impersonation  of  her  as  an  expositor 
of  prophecy  for  Marjory's  benefit  solely,  gave 
the  child,  who  could  not  help  laughing  at  the 
caricature,  many  pangs  of  stinging  remorse. 

Phil,  in  the  phraseology  Marjory  had  learned 


242  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

to  repeat  when  speaking  of  him,"  had  hardened 
his  heart  lest  he  should  believe,"  but  he  did 
not  ridicule  her  nor  argue  with  her.  In  fact, 
he  was  so  kind  and  mindful  of  her  comfort,  that 
when  he  declared  his  open  interference  with  her 
father's  wish  that  she  should  go  with  him  to  the 
Hollow,  she  took  sides  with  Phil,  and  Christo 
pher  Burke,  who  deferred  to  "  the  "boy,"  as  he 
called  him,  left  her  behind  with  many  mis 
givings  lest  she  should  not  cling  to  her  faith 
without  wavering,  but  be  blown  about  by  every 
wind  of  doctrine. 

"  Winds  of  doctrine  !  "  mused  Marjory,  watch 
ing  the  course  of  the  rising  wind  across  the  corn 
field  below  her  window,  the  trees  bending  before 
it,  a  rain  of  half-ripened  apples  in  the  orchard — 
"  it  has  been  nothing  but  a  high  wind  of 
doctrine,  a  perfect  tornado,  all  summer.  How 
can  one  help  being  blown  about,  blown  away? 
If  one  only  could  be  blown  away,  far  up  and 
away  from  the  earth,  before  the  fire  breaks  out," 
her  eyes  following  a  leaf  scurrying  upward  on 
the  gale,  "  and  so  escape  the  wrath  of  that  ter 
rible  God,  what  a  blessed  wind  that  would 
be!" 

Every  day  brought  her  a  long   letter  from 


WINDS  OF  DOCTRINE.  243 

Letitia  Barkenstone.  A  new  scheme  was  grow 
ing  in  that  visionary  brain,  or,  as  Letitia  Bark 
enstone  would  have  said,  a  new  light  was  reveal 
ing  itself  in  prophecy.  It  was  gradually  dawning 
upon  her  that  she  had  been  .raised  up  in  the 
fulness  of  time  to  make  ready  the  literal  Zion, 
modern  Palestine,  for  the  return  of  the  Mes 
siah. 

"  If  time  shall  be  prolonged" — the  "if  "  lightly 
underscored — "  I  shall  go  at  once  to  Palestine 
and  devote  myself  to  a  mission  having  for  its 
object  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  the  establish 
ment  of  an  agricultural  school  upon  the  ashes 
of  Zion,  among  the  ruins  of  Jerusalem.  A  few 
laboring  and  devoted  Christians  are  ready  to 
co-operate  with  me  in  cultivating  and  building 
up  the  waste  places,  in  comforting  the  captive 
daughter  of  Israel.  The  day  of  preparation  of 
making  Palestine  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord 
must  precede,  it  seems  revealed  to  me,  His 
coming.  But  this  may  be  a  delusion  to  shake 
our  faith  in  '  the  tenth  day.'  I  am  studying  the 
subject  with  prayer,  and  while  dwelling  upon  it 
last  night  the  following  verses  were  whispered 
in  my  ear : 


244  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"'Oh  !  who  shall  between  the  bright  cherubims  pass, 
And  restore  the  lost  garden  of  beauty  at  last  ? 
Who  shall  give  to  its  long  desert  bowers  their  bloom, 
And  say  to  the  saved  and  the  ransomed,  return  ?  ' 

It  will  all  be  clear  to  us  in  a  few  days,  Mar 
jory.  If  I  go  to  Palestine  I  shall  take  you  with 
me." 

That  was  something  to  dream  of,  something 
beyond  that  fatal  tenth  day !  But  where  was 
Aunt  Prissy? 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HAPPY  VALLEY. 

PRISCILLA  OTTOWAY'S  journey  had 
been  greatly  prolonged  by  delays  and  mis 
haps,  and  the  last  thirty  miles  found  her  a  soli 
tary  passenger  by  night  in  the  mountain  wagon, 
slowly  climbing  the  steep  hill  which  shut 
away  Happy  Valley  on  the  northward  from  the 
naughty  world  beyond  its  protecting  moun 
tains.  The  rain  was  falling  in  no  fitful  mood, 
but  with  a  steady  persistence  that  shut  out 
every  other  sound  of  the  dismal  night  saving  the 
lugubrious  crooning  of  the  driver  outside,  who 
sang  over  and  over  in  every  possible  key  attain 
able  by  his  cracked,  wailing  voice — 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,  make  my  bed, 
For  I  shall  die  to-morrow!  " 

At  last,  when  she  too  had  been  singing  of 
Barbara  Allen's  woe  in  her  broken  dream,  the 
sound  of  the  wheels  upon  the  stony  descent  of 
the  hill  aroused  her.  She  knew  without  lifting 


246  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

the  curtain  just  where  they  were — not  a  mile 
from  the  village.  She  could  see  without  open 
ing  her  eyes  the  white  fence  around  the  grave 
yard  out  there  in  the  pitchy  darkness,  the  old 
tombstones  peering  at  her  through  the  bram 
bles,  their  faces  far  less  changed  by  the  years 
than  her  own;  yes,  that  was  the  moaning  of  the 
great  black  pine,  whispering  down  to  the  two 
sunken  graves  at  its  roots,  "She  has  come 
back  at  last."  Then  all  the  rain  that  was  fall 
ing  seemed  beating  upon  those  two  graves.  She 
knew  just  when  the  horses'  hoofs  would  strike 
the  bridge,  and  the  old  echo  would  rise  from 
the  ravine,  and  when  they  would  have  reached 
the  open  space  across  which  Grandfather  Hath- 
away's  cobble-stone  house  could  be  plainly 
seen — the  white  shutters,  and  the  great  barns. 
The  stage  rolled  over  the  bridge,  and  she  saw  a 
brown-faced  child  hanging  over  the  railing  in 
the  full  sunshine,  that  little  outlaw  among  the 
good  Quaker  boys  and  girls,  that  defiant  rebel 
against  Quaker  law  and  Quaker  custom.  "  Come 
here,  Priscilla,"  the  old,  sweet  voice  was  calling; 
and  she  was  hastening  to  obey,  so  glad  to  go 
home,  so  tired,  when — ah  !  it  was  the  driver 
swinging  a  lantern  before  her  dazed  eyes,  help- 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  247 

ing  a  stiff  and  confused  old  woman  to  alight 
with  her  hand-bags  and  wraps,  the  cold  rain 
beating  against  her  face. 

The  little  inn  did  its  best  to  make  her  com 
fortable,  the  landlady  herself  leaving  her  bed 
when  told  what  a  "  fine-seeming  lady  "  had  ar 
rived,  evidently  some  relation  of  old  Deborah 
Hathaway's,  for  she  had  asked  after  her  and  the 
Hathaways  generally.  As  the  house  belonged 
to  Deborah  Hathaway,  it  was  wise  to  make 
much  of  her  visitors.  So  a  fire  was  soon  blaz 
ing  on  the  hearth  of  the  pretty  bed-room,  and 
Priscilla  Otto  way  was  enjoying  a  savory  chop 
beside  it,  the  landlady  eyeing  her  with  not  a 
little  deferential  curiosity  as  she  made  pretence 
of  being  busy  about  the  room. 

"And  you  say  Deborah  Hathaway  is  still  liv 
ing.  Is  she  very  feeble  ?  Is  her  memory 
good?" 

"Trust  her  for  'membering  every  thing  as  well 
as  ever  she  did.  She  was  ninety-two  this  sum 
mer,  and  she  keeps  straight  as  an  arrow.  If 
she's  ever  seen  you  before,  she'll  know  you." 
The  tone  was  interrogatory,  but  Priscilla  Otto- 
way  made  no  response.  "  I  saw  her  picking 
grapes  in  her  garden  only  yesterday.  She 


248  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

looks  after  the  grapes  and  everything,  and  she 
owns  acres  and  acres  of  the  best  land  around 
here,  perhaps  you  know" — another  unsatisfac 
tory  pause.  "You  can't  find  a  deed  in  this  sec 
tion  that  don't  have  Hathaway  on  it.  This  is  an 
old  Quaker  settlement,  you  know.  There's  no 
going  astray  from  broad-brims  around  here." 

"  Have  you  many  guests  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  No  one  jis  now.  It's  dull  after 
harvest.  Then  there's  another  stage  comes  up 
the  Grass  hill  road." 

"  But  you  have  direct  communication  from 
Philadelphia?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  you  can  go  and  back  in  twenty-four 
hours.  There's  a  mail  every  day,  the  office  right 
here  in  the  house." 

"  Will  you  see  at  once  if  there  is  a  letter — " 

But  the  landlady  briskly  interrupted  her  to 
declare  that  there  was  nothing  whatever  in  the 
office,  she  knew,  for  she  had  charge  of  the  mail — 
regretting  afterwards  that  she  had  prevented 
the  lady  from  giving  her  name. 

"  And  has  there  been  no  one  stopping  here 
lately  by  the  name  of  Christopher  Burke?" 

No,  there  had  been  no  one  there  by  that 
name  ;  of  that  she  was  positive.  She  had 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  249 

brought  a  footstool  for  the  poor  lady's  feet,  as 
she  told  the  story,  and  was  attending  to  her 
requests  for  the  night,  when  she  was  startled 
by  hearing  her  give  a  quick  cry  of  pain,  fol 
lowed  by  a  moaning  effort  to  call  somebody  by 
name.  "  And  then  she  fell  forward,"  said  the 
good  woman  who  caught  her  in  her  arms,  "  and 
lay  like  the  dead." 

"  We  can  find  out  who  she  is,  I  am  thinking, 
at  Deborah  Hathaway's,"  said  she,  after  the 
excitement  had  somewhat  subsided,  and  the 
village  doctor  and  several  neighbors  were  con 
sulting  what  should  be  done — for  the  strange 
lady  lay  in  an  alarming  stupor.  "  She  asked 
about  her  when  she  first  came  in,  and  don't  you 
see  something  like  the  Hathaways  in  her 
face?" 

"  Oh,  pow'ful  sakes  alive  ! "  gasped  Dolly 
Cobb,  the  village  nurse,  when  she  had  finally 
made  out  the  name  on  the  daintily  embroidered 
handkerchief,  "  it's  Priscilla  Ottoway !  and  to 
think  I  didn't  know  her !  Prissy  Ottoway, 
sure's  I'se  a  livin'  soul  " — bending  close  to  the 
strong,  placid  face.  "  Of  course  it's  Prissy," 
rubbing  the  limp  hands  vigorously.  "  Didn't 
we  go  to  school  together?  Didn't  they  used  to 


250  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

call  us  the  gypsys?  She'll  know  me,  if  she 
ever  wakes  out  of  this  ;  but  Lord  sakes  alive ! 
where  has  she  been  to?  They  said  she  killed 
herself  years  ago,"  lowering  her  voice  to  a  whis 
per,  "  and  all  for  some  poor  stick  of  a  man,  a 
Spanish  count  or  something.  I  said  then  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway  wasn't  fool  enough  to  drown  her 
self  for  any  man  livin' ;  there's  those  livin'  who 
can  remember  my  sayin'  it ;  and  here  she  is,  cum 
back  from  the  dead,  if  she  isn't  dead  already ; 
oh,  Lud  sakes  alive  !  " 

Day  after  day  she  lay  there  unconscious  of 
everything  about  her.  Her  friends  could  not 
be  informed  of  her  condition,  for  no  one  knew 
who  or  where  they  were.  Deborah  Hathaway 
would  not  hear  of  inserting  a  notice  in  a  Phila 
delphia  paper.  She  believed  it  would  be  con 
trary  to  the  wishes  of  her  kinswoman.  No 
letters  came.  How  strange  it  was  !  She  had  a 
good  physician,  and  Dolly  Cobb  was  her  faith 
ful  nurse,  but  it  was  very  doubtful  if  she  would 
ever  recover.  Deborah  Hathaway  at  last 
decided  that  she  must  be  removed  to  her  house, 
planning  and  superintending  the  removal  her 
self,  upon  a  low-canopied  stone-boat,  drawn  by 
two  steady  old  oxen. 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  251 

What  a  great  white  room  it  was,  where  they 
laid  her  down  so  tenderly  !  Dolly,  fairly  terri 
fied  by  the  converging  lines  in  her  old  play 
mate's  history,  that  she  saw  terminating  under 
the  canopy  of  that  high-posted  bed,  the  room 
in  which  Prissy  Ottoway  was  born,  where  she 
kissed  her  mother  for  the  last  time,  and  where 
she  met  her  brother.  When  Dolly  Cobb  fol 
lowed  her  through  that  door,  she  gave  her  up  ; 
in  fact,  she  had  her  doubts  if  her  flitting  would 
not  be  something  more  uncanny  than  anything 
she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life  ;  and  Dolly  never 
would  have  admitted  that  her  life  had  been 
uneventful  and  prosaic. 

"  It  sims-ter-me  this  room  has  jus'  been 
waitin'  for  all  this  to  happen  ever  since  it  was 
first  put  to  rights ;  for  some  rooms  are  like  story 
books — if  it  wusn't  for  the  last  chapter  they'd 
never  cum  to  anything.  This  room's  bin 
comin' to  this  for  mor'n  sixty  years.  It's  what 
it's  made  for." 

Verily  it  was  a  chamber  of  peace — so  white,  so 
orderly,  so  prim — a  faint  odor  of  lavender  in  the 
bed  linen,  a  trimming  of  hand-knitted  lace  on 
the  snowy  dimity  curtains,  the  bed  valance,  and 
the  by-no-means  lavish  supply  of  pin-cushion, 


252  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

a  compact,  complete  pin-cushion,  which,  like 
everything  else  in  the  room,  as  well  as 
the  house,  was  not  only  an  expression  of 
Deborah  Hathaway's  Quakerish  taste,  but 
seemed  so  much  a  part  of  her,  even  Deborah 
Hathaway  herself,  that  Dolly  Cobb,  not 
unlike  other  world's  people  under  that  im 
pression,  would  have  as  soon  presumed  upon 
correcting  the  old  lady's  Quaker  vernacular  as 
to  have  changed  the  location  of  a  single  article 
of  furniture,  a  rug  or  a  footstool,  from  the  place 
it  had  been  predestined  to  occupy,  and  which 
it  seemed  to  occupy  with  a  sentient  satisfaction 
that  it  had  never  known  a  speck  of  dust  and 
never  would.  The  black  chairs,  unrelenting  in 
aspect,  somehow  suggested  that  they  were  in 
digenous  to  the  spotless  white-ash  floor,  as  the 
tall  poplars  outside  were  to  the  straight  lane 
leading  to  the  high,  narrow  stoop,  and  as  truly 
the  flowering  of  severe  order,  as  the  vagabond 
sumach  over  in  the  swamp  were  of  a  lawless 
tendency  in  nature.  Four  windows,  thirty-six 
panes  of  glass  in  each,  and  never  a  blemish  in  a 
single  pane,  looked  off  to  the  gray  hills,  four 
pictures  for  the  otherwise  bare  white  walls  that 
Quaker  asceticism  might  not  prohibit.  Beyond 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  253 

the  frowning  headland  to  the  westward,  how 
plainly  Dolly  could  see  it  when  watching  by 
that  silent  pillow  !  was  the  headland  she  fancied 
the  leader  of  all  the  hills,  stepping  to  the  front 
in  an  invasion  of  the  shrinking  valley,  stamping 
its  foot  upon  a  frightened  little  stream  that 
tried  to  hide,  and  nearly  succeeded,  among  the 
rocks  ;  and  over  there  were  the  ruins  of  the  lit 
tle  mission  chapel  built  by  the  Church  of  En 
gland  years  before. 

"  We  ought  to  have  been  expectin*  her,  and 
knowin'  she  would  come,"  Dolly  said,  breaking 
into  a  prolonged  meditation  of  the  venerable 
Quakeress  whose  faded  blue  eyes  were  longer 
than  usual  in  regaining  earthly  vision.  "  If  she 
does  die  before  we  find  out  anything  about  her 
I  do  hope  there  won't  be  anybody  here  that 
will  go  remorsing  'round,  trying  to  find  out  where 
she  came  from.  I  can  read  all  I  want  to  on  her 
face." 

She  came  back  to  feeble  consciousness  at  last, 
so  slowly  that  there  was  no  surprise  at  her  sur 
roundings,  at  Aunt  Deborah  knitting  beside 
her,  at  Dolly  Cobb,  who  was  plainly  not  a 
stranger.  There  was  no  mistaking  her  unex 
pressed  wish  not  to  be  questioned  about  her- 


254  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

self,  and  her  physician  had  rare  skill  in  learning 
the  nature  of  her  malady  without  irritating  her 
mental  peace.  It  was  when  they  would  cau 
tiously  try  to  learn  to  whom  they  should  write, 
if  to  any  one,  that  she  became  painfully  bewil 
dered  and  seemed  likely  to  slip  away  again. 

"  It  will  come  in  due  season,"  said  Deborah 
Hathaway.  "  The  Lord  is  holding  her  up.  He 
has  led  her  here.  What  He  hath  hidden  we 
shall  never  know." 

Little  by  little,  in  her  gleams  of  conscious 
ness,  much  of  her  story  was  revealed  or  guessed 
by  Aunt  Deborah.  The  waters  of  the  world 
had  been  bitter.  There  was  no  pressing  insist 
ence  for  names.  She  was  trying  to  call  some 
one  occasionally,  the  physician  dreading  undue 
stimulus  of  her  suspended  memory.  Not  a 
word  of  her  faint  rambling  monologues  were 
unnoted,  when  she  seemed  cautiously  testing 
the  reality  of  things  around  her,  trying  the 
strength  of  the  brittle  threads  by  which  she 
would  bridge  the  past  with  the  present.  Her 
radiant  smile  upon  waking  one  morning,  a  lit 
tle  more  than  a  fortnight  after  her  arrival  at 
Happy  Valley,  was  in  marked  contrast  with 
what  her  watchers  had  seen  before,  and  Deborah 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  255 

Hathaway,  who  entered  the  room  that  minute 
to  offer  her  petition  with  the  sun  rising,  as  was 
her  custom,  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
uplifting  her  withered  hand  shut  fast  the  dim 
eyes  that  had  plainly  seen  what  they  were  un 
prepared  to  meet,  and  began  in  a  hushed  whis 
per  her  communion  with  the  Invisible. 

"  Come  Thou  into  our  prison  house,  and  break 
the  chains  that  hold  us  back  from  Thee  !  Let 
the  immortal  be  born  of  death,  the  palsied 
tongue  free  to  sing  thy  love.  Let  not  thine 
hand  spare,  nor  thine  eyes  soften  until  Thou 
hast  made  of  us  all  Thou  wouldst  have  us  to 
be!" 

"  Amen,"  faintly  said  Priscilla  Ottoway. 

"  Yea,  amen  !" — betraying  no  surprise,  quietly 
taking  the  seat  beside  the  bed,  with  a  signifi 
cant  sign.  Dolly,  who  stood  like  one  trans 
fixed,  was  quick  in  interpreting — "  Thee's  mend 
ing,  Priscilla." 

"Did  I  write  the  letter,  Deborah?  Did  I 
write  to  Marjory  ?  " 

"Thee  didst  not."  Dolly  had  written  the 
name. 

"  I  must  write  " — contracting  her  brow. 

"  Thee  canst  not,  Priscilla.     Dolly  will  write 


256  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

for  thee,  when  it  comes  to  thee,  without  wrest 
ling  with  thy  memory — which  were  a  sin — to  tell 
us  where  Marjory  lives.  Wait  upon  the  Lord, 
Priscilla.  He  will  whisper  the  word  in  good 
time.  We  can  wait." 

There  was  a  bewildered  gaze  around  the 
room,  a  restless,  aimless  flight  from  one  object 
to  another ;  then  the  eyelids  fell  wearily,  to  lie 
unlifted  several  moments. 

"  Wait  upon  the  Lord,  Priscilla." 

"  Barley  Flats,"  she  seemed  murmuring  in 
her  sleep,  a  sweet  smile  lighting  up  her  face. 
"  I  can  see  the  valley — the  tents  are  gone — " 

"  Can  you  see  the  mountain  ? "  asked  Deb 
orah. 

"Mountain?"  with  a  ripple  of  laughter; 
"  mountains  in  the  Genesee  Valley! — I  told  Phil 
I  would  write — There  !  " — opening  her  eyes  sud 
denly  and  uplifting  both  her  hands.  "  Is  it  over 
with?  Has  the  day  gone  by?"  turning  to 
Dolly,  as  if  she  could  answer. 

"This  is  the  third  week  in  the  ninth  month, 
Priscilla." 

She  paid  no  heed.  " '  Tenth  day,  seventh 
month,'  "  groping  in  the  darkness  of  her  mem 
ory,  saying  the  words  over  several  times  question- 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  2$J 

ingly,  her  feverish  hold  upon  her  memory  quick 
ening,  then  failing,  until  she  apparently  lost  her 
clue  entirely  and  lay  gazing  intently  at  the  tran 
quil  face  beside  her,  startingsuddenly  as  if  aroused 
by  an  unexpected  voice  out  of  the  darkness  and 
she  were  repeating  what  she  heard. 

"  Phil  and  Marjory  !  Marjory  Burke  !  I  must 
go  home  to-night — back  to  Barley  Flats." 

"  Now  thee  canst  write  a  letter,  Dolly ;  tell 
them  Priscilla  Ottoway  is  in  good  hands,  and 
why  thee  did  not  write  before." 

"  Happy  Valley — Happy  Valley,"  the  sick 
woman  was  half  whispering  to  herself,  gliding 
into  rapid,  almost  incoherent  conversation  with 
some  fancied  personage,  her  father,  her  mother, 
or  old  grandmother  Hathaway,  whose  caraway 
cakes  she  might  not  taste  until  she  had  repeated, 
with  a  childish  satisfaction — 

' '  '  George  Fox,  George  Fox, 

The  mountain  of  rocks 
Was  thy  shield  in  the  hot  day  of  battle. 

At  the  flash  of  thy  sword, 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
Thy  foes  were  as  dumb,  driven  cattle  ! 

William  Penn,  William  Penn, 

In  the  annals  of  men —  '  " 

The  thread  of  her  recollection  broke  again,  and 


258  THE  MIDNIGH  T  CR  Y. 

the  solemn  ticking  of  the  old  clock  in  the  hall, 
and  the  plaint  of  the  cat-birds  in  the  apple  trees 
down  in  the  orchard  alone  broke  the  stillness  in 
which  she  sank  to  sleep,  so  like  a  tired  child. 

Then  while  Deborah  went  for  her  daily  walk 
down  the  long,  straight  lane  leading  to  the  high 
way,  Dolly  labored  with  her  composition  of  a 
letter.  The  construction  of  sentences  was  a 
serious  matter,  considering  she  did  not  know 
just  whom  she  was  addressing ;  but  rhetoric  was 
nothing  to  orthography,  and  poor  Dolly's  sor 
rows  with  the  little  dictionary  delayed  the  mail 
ing  of  her  letter  until  after  the  stage  had  gone. 
It  \vere  better,  she  thought,  that  the  letter 
should  be  delayed  than  that  "affectionately" 
should  have  been  spelled  as  it  necessarily  had 
been  but  for  her  persistent  search  through  the 
fa,  the  ^s,  and  at  last  the  as ;  though  what  had 
led  her  to  look  in  the  as  she  could  not  say ;  it 
was  just  where  she  had  never  thought  of  look 
ing. 

"Not  until  everything  is  over,  Deborah," 
she  heard  in  the  sick  room,  as  she  paused  out 
side  the  open  door,  Priscilla  Ottoway's  voice, 
firm  and  wondrously  sweet,  "you  are  not  to 
write  to  them  until  everything  is  over." 


HAPPY  VALLEY.  259 

Deborah  was  holding  her  hand ;  her  open 
Bible  was  on  the  little  stand  beside  the  bed. 
The  afternoon  sun  filled  the  room  with  a  golden 
light,  for  the  blinds  had  been  swung  wide,  some 
thing  that  had  not  happened  before  at  that 
hour  of  the  day.  The  faces  of  the  two  kins 
women  were  strangely  illuminated,  Dolly 
thought.  Their  joyfulness  impressed  her  first ; 
then  she  knew  the  whole. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  would  have  it,  Deborah. 
They  shall  hear  I  am  gone — when  all  is  over. 
I  have  slipped  out  of  their  lives  never  to  come 
back,  that  is  all.  No  funeral  for  them,  no 
weeping  over  my  dead  face,  only  the  knowing 
I  am  gone.  No,  you  must  not  send  for  the 
doctor." 

The  spasm  of  agony  had  passed,  leaving  her 
mind  clearer  than  before.  "  The  end  is  come," 
smiling  serenely,  "  and  I  am  so  glad  it 
finds  me  here.  You  have  been  so  kind  to  me ! 
I  knew  more  at  times  than  you  thought,  but  I 
could  not  speak.  It  was  just  as  well.  Phil 
and  Marjory  are  like  my  own  children.  They 
know  what  I  would  have  them  do  for  each 
other.  Lay  me  down  at  the  foot  of  the  old  pine 
tree.  Then  let  them  come,  Phil  and  Marjory." 


26o  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

Not  long  after,  when  all  was  over  and  a 
sacred  quiet  enfolded  the  house,  so  like  the 
peace  of  the  covered  face  in  the  western 
chamber,  the  doctor  came  in  bringing  a 
letter  he  had  found  at  the  post-office  for  Pris- 
cilla  Ottoway.  He  had  also  a  few  pine  cones 
that  he  had  picked  up  when  he  passed  the  old 
graveyard,  thinking  they  might  gently  stimu 
late  reviving  memory. 

"  She's  gone,  Doctor  Talcott,"  sobbed 
Dolly  Cobb,  "  unless  she's  only  sleeping — as  it 
looks  she  is." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  DAY  AND  THE  HOUR. 

THE  letter  was  from  Phil.  If  they  did  not 
hear  from  her  soon  he  should  go  in  search 
of  her.  The  old  house  was  quiet  again,  very 
quiet.  Then  he  told  her  of  the  arrival  of 
Christopher  Burke,  and  his  departure  with  his 
wife  and  Letitia  Barkenstone,  a  summary  of  all 
that  had  happened  in  her  absence,  without 
comment  or  waste  of  words.  Marjory  would 
not  be  herself,  of  course,  until  "  the  tenth  day  " 
was  well  over.  He  meant  to  deceive  her  some 
how  as  to  the  date,  bewilder  her  calculations 
as  to  the  calendar,  surprise  her  some  morning 
by  telling  her  that  "  the  day  "  was  gone  by  ; 
she  need  live  in  dread  of  it  no  longer.  He 
counted  on  Aunt  Priscilla's  help  in  mislead 
ing  her  when  she  came  home,  which  he  hoped 
would  be  very  soon.  They  would  have  to 
tamper  with  Marjory's  correspondence,  hold 
back  Miss  Barkenstone's  long  letters.  Happily 


262  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

her  father  and  mother  were  too  preoccupied 
to  write  often. 

"They  will  be  coming  back  here  soon,  of 
course.  I  like  Christopher  Burke,  he  means 
to  be  honest ;  he  seems  to  think  Marjory  is 
about  five  years  old.  He  shall  have  a  piece  of 
my  share  of  the  farm,  and  we  will  build  him  a 
snug  house.  If  you  are  not  coming  home  soon, 
send  for  Marjory.  That  will  help  drive  this 
nonsense  from  her  mind." 

"  Yea,  Dolly,  she  shall  have  Friends'  burial," 
said  Deborah,  when  she  had  read  the  letter 
softly  aloud  in  the  western  chamber.  "  She  came 
back  in  world's  garb,  but  she  is  a  Hathaway. 
She  shall  go  to  her  grave  as  her  kin  have  before 
her.  Give  her  my  best  cap  and  kerchief,  Dolly. 
Rebecca  Springer  shall  speak  at  her  funeral,  and 
may  the  spirit  touch  her  lips  as  it  did  when 
Priscilla's  mother  died.  Nay  !  nay!  " — sternly 
— "  Marjory  and  Philip  may  not  be  here.  That 
was  Priscilla's  requirement.  Priscilla  was  a 

Hathaway  and  had  her  own  mind." 

»..•»._».»•*« 

"  This  is  a  world's  end  for  us,  Marjory." 
They  stood  side  by  side,  looking  down  upon 
the    new-made  grave  under  the  old  pine  tree. 


THE  DA  Y  AND  THE  HOUR.  263 

"  Oh,  Phil  !  "  sobbing  and  clinging  closer  to 
his  arm,  "  are  we  never  to  find  her  again?  " 

There  came  no  answer.  Phil,  dumb  and 
tearless  as  he  had  been  since  the  stroke,  made 
no  attempt  at  consolation.  It  was  not  in  him 
to  offer  visionary  wishes  for  certainties,  and 
dreams  for  divine  revelation  ;  nor  was  he  so 
heartless  as  to  bid  her  turn  for  comfort  to  the 
faith  that  had  shrivelled  her  happiness. 

Their  stay  in  Happy  Valley  was  of  but  a  few 
days.  Deborah  Hathaway  understood  perfectly 
why  they  could  not  consent  to  remain  longer, 
and  gave  them  her  blessing  at  parting.  They 
would  come  to  her  again,  she  trusted,  before 
she  went  to  join  Priscilla.  She  had  not  long  to 
stay.  Perhaps,  if  she  lingered,  they  would 
come  to  Happy  Valley  in  the  midwinter ;  the 
days  would  be  somewhat  long  for  her,  waiting 
there  alone. 

Marjory  had  been  holding  controversy  with 
her  uneasy  conscience,  as  to  her  duty  in  pro 
fessing  her  faith  to  Aunt  Deborah.  She  must 
not  play  the  coward,  the  hypocrite. 

"  Have  you  not  yet  heard,"  she  found  cour 
age  to  ask,  "  that  the  world  is  coming  to  an 
end  before  next  winter?" 


264  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

"  Nay,  friend  Marjory,"  a  twinkle  in  the 
dim  eyes,  a  prolonged,  half-amused  study  of  the 
flushed  face  "  the  spirit  hath  not  yet  revealed 
such  a  message  to  me.  How  hath  He  spoken 
with  thee,  friend  Marjory?  I  have  heard  that 
such  doctrine  is  taught  in  the  babel  of  the 
world,  but  the  still  small  voice  that  speaks  with 
me  here  tells  me  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  and  I 
have  been  given  a  ready  perception  of  truth. 
Did  this  message  come  to  thee  from  within, 
friend  Marjory  ?  Does  thee  know  that  what 
thee  has  heard  is  verily  the  voice  of  the  spirit  ? 
Let  me  speak  to  thee  for  Priscilla,  and  bid  thee 
stay  here  with  me,  until  it  is  plain  unto  thee  if 
thee  is  vexed  with  delusions  or  nay?" 

But  she  would  go  back  with  Phil.  It  was 
upon  the  last  day  of  their  uneventful  journey, 
when  they  were  not  many  miles  from  home,  and 
when  Phil,  because  of  her  long  silence,  was 
believing  that  she  had  forgotten  his  existence, 
that  she  quietly  slipped  a  letter  into  his  hand, 
a  worn,  rumpled  letter,  one  she  received  not 
long  before  they  went  away,  he  remembered 
taking  it  from  the  office,  the  superscription  in 
Samuel  Breckinridge's  writing,  plainly  enough. 

"  Please  read  it,  Phil." 


THE  DA  Y  AND  THE  HOUR.  265 

"  You  can  tell  me  all  there  is  in  it  that  I  care 
to  know,"  passively  submitting  to  let  it  remain 
in  his  hand. 

"  But  I  want  you  to  read  it,"  with  her  old 
imperiousness,  settling  back  composedly,  as  if 
the  matter  were  decided.  "  Read  it  aloud,  please. 
You  are  so  determined  not  to  think  well  of 
Mr.  Breckinridge." 

Phil  opened  the  letter  mechanically,  skim 
ming  its  contents  hastily. 

"  There,  now,  read  more  slowly  and  distinctly. 
I  want  to  hear  how  it  sounds  from  some  one 
else,  as  if  somebody  besides  Mr.  Breckinridge 
were  saying  what  he  does."  Phil  read — "  The 
sirocco  of  this  fanaticism  will  soon  be  spent. 
Until  '  the  day  '  is  gone  by  and  all  things  con 
tinue  as  they  were,  I  am  a  hopeless  scoffer  in 
your  eyes,  one  of  those  '  brands '  nothing  may 
pluck  from  the  burning.  But  when  the  day  is 
gone  by,  and  I  thank  a  merciful  heaven  it  soon 
will  be,  strike  out  from  the  wreck,  my  child, 
and  get  clear  from  the  sinking  ship.  Don't 
trust  yourself  to  any  of  the  crazy  rafts  bound  to 
finish  the  voyage.  My  sister  has  the  material 
of  one  of  those  rafts,  a  mission  to  Palestine  for 
the  agricultural  education  of  the  Jews,  as  she 


266  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

has  misgivings  even  at  this,  the  eleventh  hour, 
if  the  'coming'  can  come  until  the  literal  Zion 
has  been  made  ready  for  the  arrival.  She  is 
doubting  if  she  should  not  have  gone  to  Pales 
tine  a  few  years  ago,  to  convert  the  land,  if  not 
the  remnant  of  the  chosen  people,  into  some 
thing  very  different  from  what  it  is  to-day. 
The  fact  that  Palestine  is  barren,  rather  than 
fertile,  is  a  fact  she  did  not  consider  in  due 
season,  although  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot 
understand  why  a  vast  amount  of  money  and 
labor  should  be  expended  as  a  preparation  for 
an  inevitable  conflagration.  But  then  there  are 
many  other  things  of  this  nature  that  I  do  not 
understand.  One  is,  why  you  should  have 
been  drawn  into  this  vortex  of  delusion.  I 
think  of  you  with  sincere  pity,  and  when  the 
day  is  gone  by  and  this  hideous  nightmare  of 
fanaticism  is  ended,  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power 
to  erase  it  from  your  memory.  I  am  sure  Miss 
Ottoway  will  consent  to  your  going  to  Cousin 
Beth  in  Philadelphia  this  winter,  for  CousinBeth 
is  to  preside  in  my  household,  which  will 
include  Cousin  Vic  and  several  charming  young 
ladies  you  will  be  pleased  to  know ;  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  very  thankful,  before  your  gay 


THE  DA  Y  AND  THE  HOUR.  267 

winter  is  over,  that  the  end  is  not  yet.  My  sister, 
of  course,  will  be  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  I  shall 
undoubtedly  be  with  her. 

"  I  can  understand  the  <  coming  '  Cousin  Beth 
speaks  of,  in  her  still,  small  voice.  '  Wherever 
the  Lord  is,  there  is  heaven'  That  is  a  coming  I 
understand,  not  this  horrible  demoniac  scourge, 
this  conception  of  a  Creator  creating  for  wrath 
and  destruction,  the  outcome,  perhaps,  of  the 
old  Jewish  conception  of  God,  the  Jewish 
inability  to  accept  the  Mystic  Bread  in  place 
of  an  Avenger  of  national  wrongs.  But 
pardon  me,  child,  you  have  no  lack  of  preach 
ing  already.  The  end  is  at  hand.  Be  of  good 
cheer.  Old  things  shall  pass  away  ;  all  things 
shall  become  new." 

"  What  day  of  the  month  is  it,  Phil  ?  It  seems 
so  long  ago  since  that  letter  came,  and  we 
started  for  Happy  Valley  !  " 

"  Don't  you  see  the  purple  asters,  Marjory, 
and  the  thistledown  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  September.  -How  time  is 
creeping  on,"  her  mouth  growing  rigid,  a 
tremor  stealing  over  her. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,  Marjory" — his 
voice  was  husky  and  low,  and  he  turned  res- 


268  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

olutely  from  her  and  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow.  The  horses  were  slowly  climbing  the 
long  hill  not  far  from  the  village,  their  journey's 
end.  "  Promise  me  you  will  try  to  forget  all 
about  that  day,  to  let  me  help  you  to  forget  it." 

"  But  I  must  not,  Phil,"  laying  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  and  he  could  not  escape  con- 
fronting  her  distressed,  pleading  eyes  "  I  must 
not  let  that  day  come  upon  us  unawares,  I 
must  be  watching,  waiting,  longing  for  it  to 
come." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense  !  "  growled  Phil,  quick 
to  regret  the  hurt  he  gave  her.  "  How  can  you 
talk  about  longing  to  see  such  a  day  ?  You 
know  you  don't,  unless  you  are  in  haste  to  see 
the  last  of  some  of  us.  Yes,  you  must  be  long 
ing  to  be  well  rid  of — "  He  had  not  the 
courage,  the  cruelty  to  finish  his  sentence ; 
but  he  might  as  well  have  done  so.  And  the 
look  she  gave  him  wrung  his  heart. 

The  driver's  horn  broke  in,  the  loud,  clear 
blast  telling  them  they  would  soon  be  at  home. 
Phil  took  her  hand  and  she  let  it  lie  in  his, 
until  the  stage  came  to  a  stand-still  at  the  post- 
office  door. 

"Them  Ottoways  is  hum  from  theburyin'," 


THE  DA  Y  AND  THE  HOUR.  269 

was  soon  circulated  throughout  the  village, 
"  and  never  a  thread  of  black  on  either  of  'em." 
"  Well,"  sighed  the  village  milliner,  "  according 
to  that  girl's  notion,  and  who'd  a  thought  that 
wild  thing  had  ever  gone  into  Millerism,  it's 
precious  little  while  she'll  be  wanting  a  black 
bonnet  or  any  other,  tho'  I  should  think  they'd 
all  want  black  bonnets ;  would  want  to  go  into 
mourning  beforehand  for  what  they  can't 
mourn  for  when  it's  over  with." 

Old  Merit,  however,  had  a  superlatively  wide 
weed  on  his  white  Sunday  hat,  and  his  knotted 
hands  were  encased  in  black  gloves  ;  for  he  was 
waiting  for  "  the  chillen,"  as  he  had  waited 
nearly  every  day  since  they  went  away.  The 
first  thing  Marjory  saw  was  his  sorrowful  face, 
as  he  hobbled  hurriedly  to  open  the  stage  door, 
his  mouth  twitching  convulsively,  but  uttering 
no  intelligible  sound.  He  hastened  them  to 
the  carriage  and  drove  them  away,  mournfully 
shaking  his  head,  suddenly  checking  the  speed 
of  his  horses  when  they  were  well  outside  the 
village,  to  hold  them  to  a  funeral  walk;  for  in 
old  Merit's  imagination  a  hearse  was  preceding 
that  return  to  the  old  house.  The  dogs  came 
bounding  across  the  meadow,  barking  a  joyous 


270  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

welcome,  in  which  the  low-flying  swallows 
seemed  to  participate,  the  shadow  of  the  old 
house  in  the  setting  sun  meeting  them  as  far 
from  the  deserted  porch  as  it  could  ;  America 
striding  slowly  down  the  foot-path,  her  arms 
hanging  like  weights  by  her  side. 

"  Oh,  Phil  !  will  it  never  be  the  same  home 
again?" 

"  Never,  Marjory  ;  that  world  has  had  its 
ending  forever." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AND  IT  CAME  TO  PASS. 

ELIZABETH  CULBERTSON  and  Letitia 
Barkenstone  consented  to  act  as  guardians 
of  Marjory  Burke.  Marjory's  choice  of  the  latter 
had  met  with  no  little  opposition,  but  the  ap 
pointment  had  finally  been  made,  and  that 
chiefly  through  the  influence  of  Elizabeth  Cul- 
bertson,  who  had  hastened  to  Barley  Flats  and 
spent  several  weeks  with  Marjory,  comforting 
her  as  no  one  else  could. 

Happily  for  Marjory,  that  part  of  the  doomed 
world  which  lay  in  the  vicinity  of  Mills  Hollow 
had  a  claim  upon  Christopher  Burke  which 
made  his  ignoring  its  salvation  at  that  critical 
crisis  something  not  to  be  considered.  Mar 
jory  had  dropped  the  first  letter  she  received 
from  the  evangelists  after  her  return  from 
Happy  Valley  before  she  had  read  the  first 
page,  shocked  and  repelled  by  the  consolations 
of  the  faith  in  which  she  had  professed  confi- 


272  THE  MIDNIGHT  CR  Y. 

dence.  What  an  ogre  her  sacred  sorrow  showed 
it  to  be ! 

She  could  only  sit  dumb  and  wounded  before 
it,  confronting  it,  for  she  would  not  confess  the 
half-unconscious  discovery  of  its  hideousness. 
Phil  picked  up  the  letter.  He  saw  it  all,  and 
he  not  only  read,  but  answered  it.  Marjory  was 
going  away  for  a  few  weeks,  he  wrote,  without 
saying  where,  and  when  all  was  over,  a  home 
awaited  Christopher  Burke  and  his  wife  on  the 
old  farm. 

The  Hermitage  was  to  be  closed  for  the  win 
ter;  but  Victoria  Barry  was  there  superintend 
ing  some  changes,  and  the  two  households  had 
naturally  become  as  one.  Marjory,  without 
further  allusion  to  the  subject,  understood  the 
design  of  those  around  her,  to  keep  her  in  ignor 
ance  of  the  day  of  the  month,  even  the  month 
itself,  and  she  had  not  the  faintest  desire  to 
defeat  their  plans,  never  seeming  to  note  the 
absence  of  newspapers,  even  the  removal  of  the 
almanac  from  its  time-honored  place  below  the 
kitchen  clock.  No  one  spoke  of  the  fanaticism, 
nor  did  Cousin  Beth,  in  their  many  helpful  talks 
together,  essay  indirectly  to  show  her  how  mis 
taken  she  had  been.  And  Marjory,  thankful 


AND  IT  CAME   TO  PASS.  273 

for  their  tender  silence,  brooded  far  more  than 
they  were  aware  upon  the  marked  change  in 
her  life,  the  terrible  fear  of  that  approaching 
day,  the  sickening  dread,  at  each  sunsetting,  of 
the  outburst  of  the  last  trumpet  before  the 
morning  should  dawn,  making  the  close  of  each 
day  to  her  like  the  sunsetting  to  one  who  hears 
the  building  of  his  scaffold  in  the  prison-yard 
below  his  cell. 

"  I  tell  you  she  don't  really  believe  it,"  said 
Victoria  Barry,  in  one  of  the  frequent  talks  she 
had  with  Phil  upon  the  subject. 

"  Yes,  she  does.  Don't  you  see  how  thin  and 
pale  she  is?  We  must  get  her  away  from  here. 
She  knows  it  is  October.  Don't  the  leaves  tell 
that?" 

"  I  wish  I  might  tell  her  about  old  Miss  Par 
sons.  She  believes,  you  know,  or  says  she  does, 
that  she  is  going  up  on  the  tenth  day,  just  four 
days  from  this.  I  went  to  see  her  yesterday 
and  begged  her  to  go  and  take  care  of  that 
poor  fellow  put  off  from  a  canal  boat  yesterday 
with  the  smallpox.  He  lies  up  there  in  a  shanty 
and  only  for  old  Jake  would  die  of  neglect. 
Think  she  would  go?  No,  indeed  !  She  seemed 
to  think  it  would  be  highly  improper  for  her  to 


274  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

expose  herself  to  a  contagious  disease,  to  go  up 
with  such  taint  in  her  garment." 

But  Marjory  was  convalescing,  notwithstand 
ing  her  constant  self-accusation  of  backsliding. 
Her  elastic  mind  was  surely  gaining  equilibrium. 
Her  better  judgment  was  asserting  itself — or,  let 
us  say,  her  native  common  sense.  Naturally 
she  shrank  from  meeting  those  she  had  exhort 
ed  so  eloquently,  the  unconverted,  still  eager  to 
hear  her  again.  One  gray-headed  old  farmer  who 
lived  on  the  State  Road,  where  she  once  liked 
best  to  ride,  haunted  her  thoughts,  and  she  often 
asked  herself  if  he  were  not  a  true  prophet. 
She  could  not  forget  how  he  had  smiled,  when 
she  saw  him  in  the  wheat-field  that  day,  and 
rebuked  him  with  a  marvellous  flow  of  Script 
ural  denunciation,  for  garnering  against  the 
burning ;  how  he  had  listened  with  an  admiring 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  then  took  Nan  by  the 
bit  and  drawled  out : 

"  Now  let  me  tell  you,  sissy,  Millerism  is  a 
pooty  high  hoss  for  a  gal  like  you  to  be  ridin'. 
It's  a  kind  of  a  circus,  sissy,  bareback  ridin'  of 
Scriptur',  without  any  bridle  to  steer  by  ;  kind 
of  gallopin"  round  the  prophecies,  comin'  up 
nobody  knows  whar.  It's  a  pooty  good  show, 


AND  IT  CAME  TO  PASS.  275 

providin'  it  don't  cost  too  much.  Now  I'm  an 
old  Presbyterian  deacon,  and  I  try  to  be  a 
gospel  Christian.  Le'  me  give  you  an  old  man's 
advisin'.  If  you're  mind  to  make  the  gospel 
journey,  git  up  into  the  reg'lar  chariot,"  point 
ing  to  the  meeting  house  steeple.  "  That's 
better  than  gallopin'  over  Miller's  sawdust." 

She  had  not  cared  to  see  that  old  fanner 
since  she  came  back  from  Happy  Valley.  And 
how  fast  the  days  were  going,  the  autumn  creep 
ing  on.  Would  it  come  ? 

The  ninth  day  of  the  seventh  month  !  The 
sunsetting  thereof  found  Marjory  at  the  Her 
mitage,  a  dismal  night  outside,  the  rain  pouring 
down,  but  within  all  cheer  and  unusual  activity. 
The  house  would  be  closed  on  the  morrow,  and 
the  last  box  was  packed,  the  carpets  up,  the  cur 
tains  down  ;  but  the  fire  blazed  in  the  great  fire 
place,  and  three  tired  women  sat  toasting  their 
toes  before  it,  complacently  reviewing  all  they 
had  accomplished  since  the  morning,  assuring 
each  other  that  all  was  done  as  it  should  be. 

"  It  won't  be  long  till  next  summer,"  said 
Cousin  Beth.  "  To-morrow  is  Christmas,  and 
day  after  to-morrow  the  trailing  arbutus  will  be 
blossoming  out  there  in  the  wood." 


276  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

"And  next  week  we  shall  be  out  on  the 
piazza  again,"  added  Cousin  Vic.  "  By-the-bye, 
we  must  tell  Phil  to  send  Poll-Betsey  on  to  us 
withjacko.  Don't  let  me  forget  that." 

"  Yes,  we   owe    something  to  Poll-Betsey," 

breaking  her  abstraction  to  look  smilingly  at 

• 

Marjory,  who  was  far  away  and  did  not  hear, 
her  face  revealing  what  it  pained  Cousin  Beth 
to  see.  The  wind  was  rising,  the  rain  pour 
ing  down,  the  sound  of  its  beating  on  the 
piazza,  roof  drowning  their  voices. 

"We  shall  have  pleasant  weather  when  this 
is  over,"  raising  her  voice  ;  but  Marjory  did 
not  hear.  "  We  must  drive  over  to  the  Shaker 
Community  before  we  go  to  Philadelphia;  I 
want  to  hear  Sister  Ann's  story  again." 

"Pity  we  couldn't  .all  turn  Shakers,"  and 
Victoria  Barry  sighed  deeply.  "  The  poke- 
bonnet  is  my  temptation  to  join  them,  and 
the  dancing.  I  should  like  that,  unless 
the  old  elders  lagged  and  droned  as  they 
sometimes  do.  A  lukewarm  Shaker  is  to  be 
pitied.  Think  of  having  to  go  around  and 
around  that  room,  twanging  those  hymns,  when 
your  heels  as  well  as  your  heart  are  like 
lead.  Dreadful !  One  must  be  sure  of  con-; 


AND  IT  CAME  TO  PASS.  277 

version  before  one  enlists  under  Mother 
Ann." 

There  was  a  heavy  footstep  in  the  porch. 
Marjory  recognized  it  at  once,  and  sprang  to 
open  the  door. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  lonesome  you  would 
be  all  alone  here  to-night."  Pepper  and  Fan 
were  close  at  Phil's  heels.  They  would  never 
have  followed  him  had  Aunt  Prissy  been  sitting 
by  their  rug.  Yes,  they  must  come  in,  Mar 
jory's  tears  falling  on  their  silky  heads.  Was 
it  not  going  to  be  a  dreadful  night  ? 

"  Possibly,"  said  Phil  stolidly,  taking  off  his 
great  coat,  a  troubled  glance  at  Marjory's 
face.  Could  it  be  that  she  knew  what  night 
it  was?  "I  thought  I'd  come  and  see  that 
you  were  all  right  over  here.  These  new 
fangled  houses  are  not  always  to  be  trusted 
in  a  high  wind,  unless  they  are  looked  after. 
Did  you  fasten  the  turret  windows?  "  following 
the  maid  into  the  kitchen,  for  he  had  seen  her 
frightened  face  and  divined  the  cause. 

"  And  is  the  world  coming  to  an  end 
to-night?"  piteously  whined  Katie,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  Everybody  is  talking  about  it, 
and  really  it  seems  like  it  is  coming." 


2 7 8  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

If  he  did  not  quiet  her  fears  he  made  it  plain 
that  she  was  not  to  betray  them  in  the  parlor. 
He  made  fast  the  shutters  and  doors,  and  hav 
ing  put  out  the  kitchen  fire,  took  precautionary 
measures  with  the  one  before  which  the  ladies 
were  gathered.  Stealthily  and  as  if  suppress 
ing  a  gathering  rage  at  restraint,  the  wind  was 
creeping  across  the  wide  valley,  the  great  trees 
around  the  house  shivering  at  its  approach. 
Long,  ominous  whistles,  ending  in  shrieks,  made 
the  empty  rooms  around  them  seem  peopled 
with  demons.  The  dogs  sat  with  up-pricked 
ears,  growling  when  the  windows  were  shaken, 
and  the  smoke  came  down  the  chimney  in 
angry  gusts.  The  frightened  servants  ran  in 
from  the  kitchen,  and  before  they  could  be 
silenced,  had  ejaculated,  in  their  terror,  the 
prayers  which  Marjory  at  least  was  quick  to 
hear.  It  had  come  ;  and  with  her  conviction 
the  wind  struck  the  house.  Pepper  gave  an 
unearthly  howl,  poor  dog,  and  a  dead  branch  of 
the  oak  overhanging  the  roof  was  hurled  against 
the  window,  shivering  the  glass.  The  incoming 
tornado  dashed  a  map  from  the  wall  and 
extinguished  the  candles.  Phil  was  quick  to 
throw  the  ashes  over  the  fire,  deadening  it  com- 


AND  IT  CAME   TO  PASS.  279 

pletely,  before  he  could  attend  to  Marjory, 
whose  low,  frightened  cry  had  not  escaped  his 
ear.  She  was  lying  senseless  at  his  very 
feet. 

For  hours  she  lay  unconscious,  moaning  in 
her  feverish  delirium,  her  piteous  prayers 
revealing  her  conception  of  the  Avenger  who, 
she  believed,  had  arisen  in  His  wrath  to  judge 
the  earth.  The  storm  had  spent  its  fury,  but 
was  slow  to  retreat.  Marjory  would  not  let 
go  her  hold  of  Phil's  hand,  and  Dennis  could 
not  be  prevailed  upon  to  go  for  a  physician. 
The  watchers  by  the  poor  girl  hardly  knew 
when  the  tempest  was  past,  so  lost  were  they 
in  the  whirlwind  depicted  by  that  distempered 
brain,  the  falling  mountains,  the  flame-scorched 
river  bed,  the  opening  graves,  and  the  cursing 
heavens. 

The  soothing  monotone  of  the  rain  and 
Cousin  Beth's  magnetic  voice  won  the  victory 
at  last,  and  Marjory  dropped  into  troubled 
slumber,  lasting  only  while  Cousin  Beth  was 
speaking.  When  the  voice  stopped,  the  bewil 
dered  eyes  would  suddenly  open  and  the  lurid 
visions  return,  so  Cousin  Beth  kept  up  her  even 
flow  of  speech,  and  Phil  and  Victoria  Barry 


2 So  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

sustained  her  as  best  they  could.  It  mattered 
little  what  was  said,  so  that  the  sound  of  a 
voice  was  unbroken,  the  assurance  that  she  was 
not  alone  with  her  fears.  Naturally  they  fell 
to  discussing  the  topic  suggested  by  her  illusion, 
in  a  guarded  manner. 

"  The  worst  is  over,"  said  Cousin  Beth. 
"  Physical  and  spiritual  prostration  will  follow, 
but  her  healthy  temperament  will  assert  itself. 
She  will  be  the  stronger  for  this  experi 
ence. 

"  Everything  is  divine  wisdom  with  Cousin 
Beth,"  said  Victoria  Barry,  sniffing  hard  at 
the  camphor  bottle.  "  The  paths  of  Providence 
are  never  too  crooked  for  her  faith  to  make  all 
straight.  Nevertheless — "  Marjory  seemed 
listening,  and  faintly  smiled  when  Cousin 
Beth  repeated, 

"  '  There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distil  it  out." 

Near  daybreak  Phil  was  climbing  the  turret 
stairs  to  Sam  Breckinridge's  eyry,  not  of  his 
own  will,  but  that  of  Elizabeth  Culbertson, 
who  would  have  him  go  to  bed,  now  that  all 
was  quiet,  and  the  birds  were  beginning  to  peep 
a  cheery  welcome  for  "the tenth  day,"  rough- 
tossed  as  their  nests  had  been,  poor  bedraggled 


AND  IT  CAME  TO  PASS.  281 

survivors  of  the  storm  !  From  the  curtainless 
windows  looking  far  off  over  the  valley,  Phil 
watched  to  see  the  first  glimpse  of  the  sun- 
rising  so  many  terror-stricken  souls  were  yet 
slow  to  believe  they  could  ever  see  again.  The 
sky  was  wondrously  clear,  and  to  him  the  cold, 
glittering  stars  at  first  seemed  colder, 
more  silent,  than  ever.  What  strange, 
weird  whispers  came  out  of  the  black  woods, 
and  then  how  eloquent  were  the  far-off  voice 
less  stars,  triumphantly  challenging  his  doubt 
of  their  handiwork  divine  !  He  could  make 
out  dimly  the  landmarks  in  the  wide  landscape 
stretching  far  away  like  a  black  ocean  to  the 
westward.  He  knew  just  where  the  sunrise 
would  find  the  old  chimney,  and  there  his  eye 
rested.  How  like  his  life,  her  life,  it  lay, 
wrapped  in  the  darkness  !  But  the  night  was 
far  spent,  the  day  was  at  hand. 

"  When  this  day  is  over  with,"  and  Phil 
strode  aimlessly  around  the  room,  "she'll  be 
her  old  self  again."  He  could  hear  Cousin  Beth 
singing  in  the  chamber  below,  and  one  of  old 
Merit's  worn-out  sayings  came  back  to  him  : 

"Angelzes  don'  allus  kum  a  flyin'  outer  hebbin. 
Dey  hops  up  mighty  sudden,  jis  like  mush 
rooms." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AFTER  ALL. 

AND  "the  day"  went  by.  All  things  con 
tinued  as  they  were. 

"  We  are  still  on  the  shores  of  mortality," 
wrote  Christopher  Burke  to  Phil,  "  but  He  is 
even  at  the  door.  He  has  given  a  few  days 
more  for  the  trial  of  our  faith.  It  is  all  in 
accordance  with  the  parable  of  the  ten  virgins. 
When  they  had  arisen  and  trimmed  their  lamps, 
there  was  still  to  be  a  time  when  the  lamps  of 
the  unwise  virgins  would  be  going  out.  This 
could  not  be  without  a  passing-by  of  the  "  tenth 
day  "  ;  until  that  day  their  lamps  would  burn. 
It  must  pass  by,  or  when  would  the  foolish  have 
time  to  give  up  their  faith?  " 

His  hope  was  unshaken.  Not  so  with  Annie 
Burke ;  she  had  no  more  visions ;  her  gift  of 
prophecy  was  gone.  Neither  prayer  nor  denun 
ciation  could  rouse  her.  Marjory  had  written 


AFTER  ALL.  283 

begging  her  to  come  home.  Phil  and  she  were 
going  at  once  to  Happy  Valley.  Deborah 
Hathaway  had  sent  for  them.  She  was  very 
ill. 

The  "  old  black  mammy  "  carried  Annie  Burke 
once  more  up  to  the  east  chamber,  and  laid  her 
in  her  old  place,  under  John  Wilson's  eye. 
The  first  snow  was  falling.  She  was  very  tired, 
she  said,  and  America,  who  would  not  leave  her 
that  night,  crept  softly  up  to  her  bed  at  the 
day-dawn,  for  she  had  wakened  from  her  trou 
bled  sleep  with  an  ominous  misgiving. 

She  was  gone — a  gleam  of  victory  lighting  up 
the  wan,  disappointed  face.  "  Behold  He 
cometh  "  had  been  whispered  softly  for  her,  at 
the  last,  and  joyfully  had  she  risen  up  from  her 
sorrow. 

The  good  country  people  from  far  and  near 
filled  the  old  house  at  that  funeral.  By  many, 
Annie  Burke  was  regarded  with  superstitious 
awe  bordering  on  reverence ;  for  had  she  not 
been  the  subject  of  a  genuine  miracle,  and  had 
she  not  exercised  the  power  of  healing?  Some 
thought  it  not  unlikely  that  she  was  in  a  trance, 
and  would  rise  up  in  her  shroud  to  tell  them  of 
things  behind  the  veil.  There  was  an  expect- 


284  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

ation  of  something  marvellous.  Phil  and  Mar 
jory  were  not  there.  From  Deborah  Hatha- 
way's  funeral  they  had  gone  with  Elizabeth 
Culbertson  to  Philadelphia,  and  in  their  jour- 
neyings  had  happily  missed  the  letter  summon 
ing  them  home  ;  happily,  for  Christopher  Burke 
said  the  burial  should  be  a  joyful  testimony  of 
his  faith,  and  he  carried  out  his  will  to  the 
letter. 

"  Why  should  you  mourn  ?  "  sternly,  to  the 
only  ones  who  wept  over  the  dead,  Merit  and 
America.  "This  is  but  a  separation  for  a  few 
days  at  the  most,  if  we,  like  her,  have  on  our 
wedding  garments." 

"Weddin'  garments!"  blurted  out  America, 
"  dere  bettah  be  no  talk  'bout  weddin'  garments 
roun'  heah  for  dis  wile  !  Weddin'  garments  !  " 
her  broad  bosom  swelling  with  rage  as  she 
edged  nearer  where  he  sat  reading  his  Bible, 
beside  the  dead.  "  I'se  no  use  for  widdowahs 
wot  talks  o*  weddin'  garments  dat  way.  Can't 
yer  wait  till  dis  chile  is  under  groun'  ?  " 

His  calmness  silenced  her.  She  stood  cowed 
before  him.  Was  he  bewitched  ?  Not  a  tear 
did  he  shed,  not  a  sigh  escaped  his  rigidly  set 
lips.  Nor  was  he  like  one  in  a  dream.  He 


AFTER  ALL.  285 

was  awfully  awake,  at  bay  with  a  mighty  sor 
row  that  would  master  him,  annihilate  his 
faith  the  first  moment  of  his  yielding  to  its 
influence.  In  the  stupendous  verity  of  that 
speedy  release  from  earthly  anguish,  perhaps 
that  very  day,  certainly  before  many  weeks,  he 
found  strength  in  his  hour  of  need. 

Letitia  Barkenstone  had  sailed  for  Palestine, 
therefore  he  decided  to  conduct  the  services 
himself,  although  the  clergyman  of  the  village 
offered  to  perform  the  last  sad  rites  for  the 
departed,  and  for  his  kindness  had  been  called 
a  false  prophet,  one  who  was  cunningly  seek 
ing  opportunity  for  deceiving  the  people.  No, 
the  occasion  should  be  improved  for  an  impres 
sive  declaration  of  the  truth.  What  a  gloomy 
funeral  it  was,  and  that  chiefly  because  death 
and  the  dead  were  so  inexorably  shut  out !  The 
one  who  was  looked  upon  as  the  solitary 
"  mourner,"  was  like  a  phantasmal  spectre  of 
ecstasy,  his  harsh  inflexible  voice  betraying  no 
feeling,  as  he  began  the  service  by  reading 
slowly — 

"  Thou  makest  us  a  byword  among  the 
heathen,  a  shaking  of  the  head  among  the  peo 
ple.  Our  heart  is  not  turned  back,  though 


236  THE  MWNJGHT  CRY. 

Thou  hast  sore  broken  us  in  the  place  of  drag 
ons,  and  covered  as  with  the  shadow  of  death. 
Arise  for  our  help  and  redeem  us,  for  thy  mer 
cy's  sake." 

The  wan  face  in  the  plain  pine  coffin  seemed 
listening  for  a  last  message,  a  recognition,  a 
tender  word  of  farewell,  and  listening  all  in 
vain.  What  had  apocalyptic  vision  and  sure 
word  of  prophecy  to  say  to  that  disappointed 
mouth,  those  hollow,  yearning  eyes  ?  The  ter 
rible  things  written  against  the  earth  and  the 
inhabiters  thereof  were  as  nothing  to  what  was 
written  on  that  silent  face,  and  all  unnoted  by 
him  for  whom  it  had  been  written. 

The  fields  were  white  with  snow.  Merit  had 
dug  the  grave  with  his  own  hands,  out  in  the 
meadow,  beside  John  Wilson's.  America  had 
carefully  removed  every  pebble  from  the  heap 
of  earth,  and  covered  it  with  boughs  from  the 
old  pine  overhanging  the  roof. 

"  I  'lows  Miss  Annie  don't  wanter  hear  dem 
ston's  rattlin'  down  de  las'  ting,  like  as  if  dat 
trumphet  dey'se  bin  foolishun'  'bout  was  blowin', 
an*  she'd  got  ter  git  up  right  'way.  She's 
nuthin'  to  git  up  foh  nebber  moah,  now  Miss 
Prissy's  gone,  an'  Miss  Marjory's  gwinc  ter 


AFTER  ALL.  287 

clar  out,  an'  dat  Crisofer  Burke  can't  set  fiah 
ter  all  creation." 

When  the  Cameron  boys  carried  the  coffin 
from  the  old  house,  Christopher  Burke  walked 
close  behind,  and  alone,  his  tearless  eyes  look 
ing  heavenward,  his  form  erect,  his  head  cov 
ered.  There  was  an  instinctive  shrinking  from 
him.  Merit  and  America  followed  a  little  dis 
tance  behind,  the  dogs  beside  them,  America 
muttering  to  herself,  her  big  sunbonnet 
drawn  far  over  her  face,  her  black  shawl 
wrapped  tightly  about  her.  Merit  had  broken 
down  and  was  crying  like  a  child,  the  snow  fall 
ing  on  his  bared  head,  his  ejaculations  revealing 
the  blackness  his  soul  was  stumbling  through, 
as  they  moved  slowly  across  the  frozen  stubble. 
Just  as  the  bearers  reached  the  grave  the  sun 
broke  through  the  clouds,  and  the  flurrying 
snow-flakes  gambolled  wildly  in  its  radiance 
before  disappearing  in  the  depths  of  the  wait 
ing  pit. 

Then  Christopher  Burke's  voice,  still 
harsh  and  inflexible,  broke  the  silence,  his 
words  smiting  the  hush  enfolding  the  valley, 
and  bringing  forth,  as  from  an  untuned  harp, 
text  after  text  of  angry  denunciation  of  the  an- 


288  THE  MIDXIGHT  CRY. 

cient  Jews,  snatches  of  prophetic  vision  and 
anathema  for  the  hardened  in  heart. 

Stepping  to  the  verge  of  the  grave  when  the 
coffin  was  lowered,  he  raised  his  voice  to  a 
higher  key : 

"And  they  shall  be  mine  in  that  day  when  I 
make  up  my  jewels,  and  I  will  spare  them  as  a 
man  spareth  his  own  son  that  serveth  him. 
Then  shall  ye  return  and  discern  between  the 
righteous  and  the  wicked,  between  him  that 
serveth  God  and  hjm  that  serveth  Him  not." 

America  with  a  firm  grip  on  Merit's  arm  had 
turned  from  the  grave  and  was  dragging  him 
along  in  her  impetuous  retreat,  the  dogs  skulk 
ing  behind  them,  lagging  slower  and  slower, 
with  wistful  looks  backward.  To  the  sound  of 
the  filling  up  of  the  grave  he  had  repeated  such 
Scriptural  texts  as  his  memory  afforded,  without 
discriminating  selection,  and  once,  when  his  eye 
wandered  to  the  old  camp  ground,  there 
had  been  a  perceptible  break  in  his  voice,  a 
momentary  spasm  of  pain,  but  the  temptation 
to  forget  the  salvation  of  souls  in  the  fleeting 
illusions  of  the  moment  had  been  triumphantly 
overcome. 


AFTER  ALL.  289 

In  Christopher  Burke  we  meet  the  typical 
fanatic,  a  fair  representative  of  a  class  by  no 
means  confined  to  unpopular  movements  like 
Millerism,  small-mindedness  and  intensity  com 
bined  with  the  tendency  to  seize  upon  the  part 
rather  than  the  whole  of  a  question  ;  mistaking 
an  attribute,  even  a  petty  one,  for  the  subject 
itself ;  adopting  the  fragment  with  zealous 
devotion,  blind  to  Its  relations  ;  considering  the 
fragment  as  an  independent  whole.  So  falsities 
are  established  on  a  narrow  basis  of  truth, 
and  schools  of  philosophy  and  theology  are 
founded  .whose  followers  are  the  devotees  of  a 
fragment. 

Christopher  Burke  lived  to  an  old  age ;  he 
died  only  yesterday,  and  never  did  his  faith  in 
the  Speedy  Coming  grow  cold.  In  every  event 
of  his  life,  to  the  closing  day  thereof,  he  saw  a 
fulfilment  of  Scriptural  prophecy.  He  caught 
eagerly  at  every  item  of  political  intelligence,  as 
a  confirmation  of  the  inspired  seership  of  Daniel 
and  the  Apocalypse,  interpreting  his  newspaper 
by  the  same.  He  knew  the  exact  topography 
of  the  battle-field  of  Armageddon,  and  just  who 
was  the  king  of  the  south  and  the  king  of  the 
north  ;  and  who  would  have  had  a  greater  inter- 


290  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

cst  in  these  latter-day  explorations  of  the  Great 
Pyramid  than  he  ?  He  fell  asleep  at  the  last, 
whispering,  "  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly," 
and  on  the  headstone  of  his  grave  in  the 
meadow  at  Barley  Flats  you  may  read — 

"  Waiting  for  the  Coming  of  Our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." 


CHAPTER  XXVo 
ON  SHARON'S  PLAIN. 

TWO  years  after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter 
we  find  Marjory  Burke  spending  her 
Christmas  holidays  at  Dr.  Wardell's,  in  New 
York,  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  whose  studies  were 
soon  to  be  varied  by  a  visit  to  England  with  her 
guardian,  Elizabeth  Culbertson.  In  the  heiress 
of  Deborah  Hathaway,  and  a  member  of  Mrs. 
Wardell's  household,  the  madcap  Marjory 
of  Barley  Flats,  the  fearless  enthusiast  of  the 
Millerite  camp  ground,  had  undergone  trans 
formation.  Nevertheless,  Phil  declared  that  she 
was  the  Marjory,  and  Phil  and  she  had  never 
grown  apart ;  she  a  true  child  of  the  wide,  breezy 
valley  of  her  childhood,  of  its  repose  and  beauty, 
its  wide  sweep  of  sky  and  meadow,  full  chorus 
of  bird  song,  and  miles  of  capricious  cloud 
shadows. 

They  were  hardly  anticipating  a  merry  Christ- 


292  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

mas  at  Dr.  WardeH's.  They  had  hung  up 
the  evergreen  wreaths,  but  the  shadow  of  their 
disappointment  in  not  hearing  from  Samuel 
Breckinridge  was  upon  the  hearth.  He  had 
been  in  Palestine  with  Letitia  Barkenstone  for 
more  than  a  year,  and  the  tenor  of  his  last  brief 
unsatisfactory  letter,  received  late  in  the  sum 
mer,  had  led  them  to  believe  he  would  keep 
Christmas  with  them,  but  not  unless  he  could 
persuade  his  sister  to  relinquish  her  visionary 
scheme  and  return  home. 

"  You  are  to  bring  Merit  and  America  with 
you,"  Marjory  wrote  to  Phil  a  few  days  before 
Christmas  week.  "  We  hope  Mr.  Breckinridge 
will  be  here,  and  it  will  give  him  such  pleasure 
to  see  old  Merit  hobbling  round,  and  '  mammy  ' 
must  have  the  joy  of  making  Kentucky  egg-nog 
for  so  many  fine  folk.  Then  you  will  see  Sir 
Edward.  I  know  Cousin  Vic  is  trying  hard  to 
interest  you  in  Sir  Edward.  You  should  hear 
him  tell  me,  with  a  babyish  lisp,  of  the 
charming  view  from  his  old  villa  among  orange 
groves  of  Sorrento,  and  why  he  suffers  the  gar 
dens  of  his  Italian  retreat  to  remain  desolate 
and  neglected  ;  those  charming  gardens  he  is 
sure  I  could  enjoy,  gardens  full  of  darting  liz- 


ON  SHARON'S  PLAINS.  293 

zards,  broken  statues,  and  plashing  fountains. 
He  says  Tasso's  Leonora  might  have  stood 
entranced  in  a  certain  balcony.  Possibly  she 
might ;  I  should  distrust  the  under-pinning. 
But  I  never  laugh  at  him.  I  am  in  my  ruby 
silk  and  pearl  necklace,  for  Milord  is  coming  to 
dine.  When  you  meet  him,  Phil,  don't  fail  to 
invite  him  to  visit  us  at  Barley  Flats.  He  will 
accept,  and  we  all  will  keep  him  company  ;  and 
what  a  gay  time  that  will  be  for  the  dear  old 
house,  what  dissipation  for  John  Wilson  and 
the  rest  of  the  grim  portraits,  and  how  proud 
America  will  be  in  setting  out  the  old  china  and 
silver! 

"  Mrs.  Wardell  is  impatient  to  build  her  chapel 
on  the  old  camp  ground.  That  is  her  latest 
missionary  ambition,  not  a  bad  one,  seeing  the 
new  warehouses  have  changed  the  rural  lane 
into  a  much  travelled  road,  and  so  many  work 
ing  people  live  in  the  vicinity.  Let  her  build 
it  there,  Phil.  I  like  to  think  of  a  pretty  stone 
church  under  those  great  trees,  its  bell  sweetly 
pealing  through  the  valley.  Mrs.  Wardell  will 
have  it  dedicated  on  the  anniversary  of  Aunt 
Prissy's  death.  It  is  to  be  Dan's  first  parish, 
of  course,  and  Karl  Saxsby  is  to  design  the 


294  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

memorial  window.  I  am  to  furnish  the  text  for 
antique  lettering  over  the  chancel  arch,  and  I 
believe  you  will  agree  with  me,  Phil,  in  choos 
ing— 

"  '  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless  ; 
I  will  come  to  you.'  " 

****** 

When  Samuel  Breckinridge  arrived,  as  he 
did  barely  in  time  to  take  Marjory  out  to 
dinner  that  Christmas-day,  he  brought  the  first 
intelligence  of  Letitia  Barkenstone's  death. 

"  Poor  Letitia !  "  sighed  Dr.  Wardell,  la 
mentably  failing,  however,  in  losing  the  merry 
tone  with  which  he  had  given  the  wanderer 
welcome,  "  poor  Letitia !  "  and  the  twinkle  in 
his  infantile  blue  eyes  would  not  be  suppressed. 
"  Well,  Sammy,  boy  " — after  an  effort  to  say 
something  most  fitting,  ending  in  a  meditative 
tapping  of  his  snuff-box  before  presenting  it 
solemnly  to  each  of  the  circle,  "  well,  and  how 
do  you  like  farming  according  to  the  prophets  ?  " 

Sam  told  the  story  as  they  sat  before  their 
Christmas  fire  that  night,  a  family  party,  includ 
ing  Phil,  who,  before  it  was  done,  found  that 
the  narrator  had  been  transformed  in  his  esti 
mation  into  all  that  Marjory  plainly  believed 


ON  SHARON'S  PLAINS.  295 

him  to  be.  "  Yes,  it  was  hard  to  bury  her  there  ; 
but  that  was  her  request.  She  spoke  of  you 
several  times,  Marjory,  child,  at  the  last ;  she 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  believe  that  you  would 
yet  take  up  her  unfinished  work.  She  gave  me 
a  rosary  for  you,  beads  of  the  wood  of  the  old 
olives  on  Olivet,  twelve  of  them  exquisitely 
engraved,  a  story  of  the  Passion.  I  never  knew 
Letitia  until  I  went  to  Palestine.  There  the 
sacred  meaning  of  her  life  was  partially  revealed 
to  me,  and  never  again  will  I  dare  sit  in  judg 
ment  upon  her  eccentricity  or  seeming  mistakes. 
Her  death  was  a  victory,  a  resurrection  and 
ascension.  But  for  me,  she  had  impoverished 
herself  utterly  in  her  mission,  which  I  knew  to 
be  an  impracticable  scheme  from  the  first.  As 
it  was,  she  sacrificed  everything  she  could. 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  personal  discomforts 
she  endured  ;  for  the  prophets,  not  human 
judgment,  were  her  guide,  and  as  there  was 
no  mention  of  '  the  sickly  season '  of  Judea  in 
the  prophecies,  she  ignored  the  sickly  season  in 
her  calculations  for  entering  upon  her  hard 
work.  She  sailed  from  Alexandria  to  Beyrut  in 
a  rice  brig,  without  a  cabin,  lying  on  its  vermin 
infested  deck  day  after  day  in  the  burning  sun, 


2g6  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  filthy  Orientals  who 
plainly  thought  her  insane.  She  nearly  died 
on  that  voyage.  I  did  not  join  her,  you  know, 
until  she  had  been  several  months  in  Jerusalem  ; 
but  she  never  lost  her  faith  in  the  prophets, 
and  that  they  were  leading  her  step  by  step. 
She  saw  a  succession  of  miracles  in  her  progress 
to  the  Promised  Land,  and  I  had  not  the  heart 
when  I  reached  there,  to  show  her  that  they 
were  a  succession  of  failures.  That  would  have 
defeated  me  in  protecting  her.  She  would  have 
cut  loose  from  me  at  once.  I  controlled  her 
by  politic  concessions  to  her  arbitrary  will, 
defending  her  as  best  I  could  against  the  horde 
of  Arabs  and  designing  Jews  who  made  capital 
of  her  fanatical  faith  in  their  conversion,  by 
running  from  sheik  to  consul  and  from  consul 
to  sheik  in  her  behalf.  On  every  side  and 
from  unlooked-for  quarters  troubles  and  perse 
cutions  came,  and  the  chimerical  undertaking 
was  nearly  at  the  point  where  she  would  have  to 
choose  between  me  and  the  prophets  for  a  guide, 
when  she  was  taken  so  suddenly  and  fatally 
ill.  I  am  glad  she  died  ignorant  of  the  treachery 
of  the  Jew,  her  favorite  convert,  in  whom  she 
confided  and  of  whom  she  had  written  glowing 


ON  SHARON'S  PLAINS.  297 

accounts  for  the  religious  press  in  England  and 
America.  He  was  a  sharp  fellow,  and  but  for 
my  timely  arrival  and  consular  arbitration  would 
have  driven  her  from  the  premises  in  which 
she  had  invested  so  disastrously.  But  she 
believed  in  him  to  the  end,  saw  in  him  a  fulfil 
ment  of  divine  promise,  and  nothing  I  could 
say  shook  her  faith  in  the  least.  I  am  glad  she 
died  in  ignorance  of  the  failure  of  her  mission 
to  Palestine  ;  that  I  was  enabled  to  spare  her," 
and  he  paused,  nervously  twisting  his  mous 
tache  in  his  old  fashion,  "  not  from  the  sorrow 
of  disappointment,  she  had  never  been  disap 
pointed.  You  could  not  disappoint  her;  she  was 
not  disappointed  when  the  day  went  by,  but 
turned  to  the  prophets  again  for  another  unful 
filled  promise,  one  in  whose  literal  interpreta 
tion  she  would  have  trusted  as  firmly  as  ever 
before." 


On  the  plains  of  Sharon,  some  three  miles 
from  Joppa,  may  be  found  a  lonely  grave.  The 
marble  headstone  bears  this  inscription  in 
English : 


298  THE  MIDNIGHT  CRY. 

Here  lieth, 

awaiting  the  resurrection  of  the  just, 
LETITIA  BARKENSTONE, 
of  Philadelphia,  United  States  of  America, 
Founder  of  an  Agricultural   Manual  Labor   School    for  the 

Children  of  Israel. 

She  died  suddenly  at  Joppa,  Dec.  6th,  184-,  in  the  midst  of 
her  labors,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land. 

The  time  to  favor  Zion  is  come  ; 
He  will  set  His  hand  a  second  time 
To  receive  Israel,  as  it  is  written — 

I  -will  return,  and   will  build  again  the   tabernacle  of  David 
which  is  fallen  down. 

The  receding  floods  of  fanaticism  must  inevit 
ably  leave  wreck  and  devastation  behind  ;  but 
who  shall  say  of  Letitia  Barkenstone  that  her 
faith  was  for  naught,  nor  hear  from  her  desolate 
grave  on  the  plains  of  Sharon  a  helping,  saving 
voice? 


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